


I Love You... I Think? (Or where Darcy's memory is Swiss cheese)

by The_Marauders_Daughter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Marauders_Daughter/pseuds/The_Marauders_Daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Darcy is in love with Steve, right? That's what everyone tells her, but her brain can't quite make the pieces fit together. And then there's the issue that something is Not Quite Right with her at the moment...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Teaser chapter, although I'm pretty sure you guys will know where I'm going...
> 
> And like always, unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine.

 

**Prologue**

 

Spending too much time with science had left its mark on Darcy. Somehow, a clear thought about what she held in her hand worked its way free from the chaos of emotion in her head.

" _You don't know for sure_ ," it said calmly. The voiced sounded just like Phil and was surprisingly comforting. " _You need to know for sure_."

So she stole Jane's car—and it wasn't really stealing if Jane just grunted when Darcy said she was taking her car.

After a couple of hours, she was back on her way to the Tower, a cheerfully colored plastic bag on the seat next to her. She kept her eyes focused entirely on the road before her; it would not do to freak out behind the wheel, even if she _was_ at a stoplight.

But the time let Darcy think and the more she thought about it, the less freaking out seemed like the right reaction. Instead, a grin crept over her face until she was full out beaming. The flurry of thought returned, but this time the emotions rushing through her made her throw her head back and laugh.

She really— and that meant that she, Darcy Marie Lewis—

And then she imagined Steve's reaction...

Her cheeks were already sore, but she just smiled wider. Darcy knew she needed something to celebrate with and spied a bakery down the side street. A cake would be perfect and she prepared to turn the wheel when the light turned green.

The cars turned ahead of her, one, two, three— and then it was her turn. A flood of honking swept through the air and Darcy turned to see an enormous truck blaze through its red light.

All of her SHIELD training couldn't get her out of the way in time, but she managed to move Jane's tiny sedan enough to avoid being T-boned. The truck hit her rear door instead and sent the car fishtailing and she spun straight towards the traffic light pole.

Darcy held on tight to the wheel and braced herself for impact, but at the last second her arms wrapped around her belly.

And then the car hit and she knew no more.


	2. Peter Parker, Bedside Manner, and I Can't Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took forever. Finals are half-way done, though, so I will be updating at least once a week, I promise!
> 
> Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine.

“Good.” Steve wiped a lock of hair off his forehead. “Again.”

“No way.” The teenager on the floor covered his eyes with his arm. “I’m good here.”

Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly and with one easy move picked Peter up by the back of his shirt. “You can do it. Again.” He cocked an eyebrow when the kid who moonlighted as Spiderman shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Or if you want, I can ask Natasha to take over your train—”

“I’m ok!” Peter raised his fists, just slightly steadier than before. “Let’s go.”

Steve had to smother a laugh at the expression that covered Peter’s face. He was just teasing, but the threat of calling the Black Widow was enough to make anyone quake in their shoes. Once SHIELD had found Peter, they had quickly recruited him as one of their security consultants. He was too young to be outright hired—and Pete had refused, saying he wanted to go to college after graduating. So they compromised and had arranged for training. It was as much an investment in a hero as a way to keep Peter safe when he couldn’t use his powers. Although his skills were impressive, Pete was horrible at hand-to-hand combat. Enter Steve.

They had only trained together for a short time, but the kid had already progressed by leaps and bounds. The team liked him, too, and Darcy had coined the term ‘Avenger in Training’ whenever they referred to Peter.

The thought of Darcy made Steve smile. “Are you sure?” he asked. He easily ducked Peter’s swing and tapped him gently on the chest. “If you really want to take a break—”

“I’m fine, Cap,” he gasped, aiming for and just barely missing Steve’s stomach.

Steve nodded and the training session continued. Peter had finally made contact when there was a loud ringing from Steve’s bag. The sound was enough to distract Peter and in a flash he was back on the floor.

“Take five,” Steve called over his shoulder as he made his way over to his cellphone. Peter raised a single finger in response. Chuckling, Steve saw the name on the screen and answered. “Hey there, doll. Is Jane driving you crazy already?”

A calm, even voice that was definitely _not_ Darcy’s answered. “Is this Steve?”

Steve stiffened and gripped the phone tighter in his fist. “Who it this?” he barked. “Where is Darcy?”

The voice was professionally unruffled. “Steve, my name is Denise Prichard. I am a nurse at the Lenox Hill Hospital in New York.”

A wave of ice washed through Steve’s veins. “Hospital?”

“Yes, Mr.…”

He answered her automatically. “Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

“Mr. Rogers, do you know a Darcy Marie Lewis?”

“S-she’s my girlfriend.” Distantly, Steve heard Peter walk over. “What’s going on?”

“I am calling to inform you that Ms. Lewis was admitted to our emergency room fifteen minutes ago. There has been a car accident.”

*

Steve broke every single traffic rule in existence and made it to the emergency room in ten minutes flat. “Darcy Lewis,” he panted at the first person he saw. “I got a phone call; my girlfriend was in a car accident. Darcy Lewis.”

The staff set him to work filling out what he knew about Darcy’s medical history after giving him absolutely no information on how she was doing. He turned in the forms and was frustratingly thanked with the promise of letting him know ‘when they had more information.’ He settled for dropping into a chair and cracking his knuckled impatiently.

“What the hell?” Steve turned and saw Tony rush through the doors. The baseball cap and sunglasses did little to hide his identity, but the staff at the desk politely looked away. “Jarvis told me something happened to Darcy—“

“How is she?” Steve hadn’t even seen Natasha come in, but she stood next to Tony.

“They wouldn’t tell me. How—”

“Peter told us you got a phone call.” Natasha reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Clint’s checking up on her.”

They sat together in silence. What seemed like hours later, Clint emerged from the restroom. He nodded to the bewildered-looking nurse helping a patient and calmly approached the group. Traces of dust in his hair were the only sign of where he’d been. “She’s safe, Cap.”

Relief flowed through Steve, and he would’ve fallen if he weren’t already sitting down.

“How is she?”

Clint reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “She's safe, but it’s not pretty. They didn’t say what happened exactly, but the doctor said she hurt her leg and a couple of ribs. Something happened to her shoulder and she had some internal bleeding. They had her in surgery but they fixed it.” He sat down and gave Steve a small smile. “She’s stable.”

Steve felt his stomach tighten as Clint listed the injuries, and he had to swallow the urge to vomit. When Clint said she was stable, Steve bent forward and buried his head in his hands. “Thank god,” he whispered. He’d been imagining the worst outcomes, the vision of Darcy dead running through his mind. Steve knew his job was dangerous, and he knew the risks for himself. For Darcy, though...

He felt the relief loosen the knot inside his chest and he didn’t bother to quiet the sobs that broke through. His team said nothing, but he felt their hands rest on his back, on his shoulders as he let everything out.

*

An eternity passed before the words they’d been waiting for rang through the waiting room. “Family for Darcy Lewis?”

The poor doctor found himself immediately swarmed and took an instinctive step back. “Family?”

“I’m her boyfriend,” Steve said.

At the same time Natasha spoke up. “I’m her cousin.”

The doctor—Gamelan, Steve saw on his badge—looked at Tony and Clint. “I’m her husband,” Clint said, pointing to Natasha.

Tony shrugged. “I’m her boss.”

“I’m sorry,” Gamelan said. “Hospital policy only allows me to communicate with family or a significant other at this time. It will then be left to you if you wish to inform someone else.”

Clint nodded and pulled Tony back to the chairs. Steve turned back to the doctor. “How is she?”

“Ms. Lewis was in a serious car accident,” Gamelan said. “She suffered several injuries and was in surgery to repair internal bleeding.”

If Steve hadn’t already known Darcy was fine, he would’ve decked Gamelan for sidestepping the question. “Is she ok?”

“She is stable.” The relief returned; he’d already known she was safe, but hearing the doctor confirm it made it real. “Ms. Lewis sustained two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a very nasty bruised tibia.” Gamelan tapped his shin to show them where. “We expect those to heal completely. At the moment we are monitoring a possible concussion; she is unconscious and there is no visible brain damage, but we won’t be able to confirm that until she wakes up.”

“Is—can we see her?”

Gamelan broke out into his first smile. “Of course. I can take you up to her room.”

They caught up Clint and Tony on the ride in the elevator, and Natasha (as official family) consented to letting the doctor disclose information in front of them. Gamelan led them into Darcy’s room, and the elation quickly gave way to somber worry when they saw Darcy in her hospital bed.

It was one thing to hear what happened, but to see it was something entirely different. Bright bruises peeked out between the stark-white bandages and a magnificent tone of blue-black colored her temple. Everything else was covered by a blanket.

“Oh my god.” Steve’s knees gave way under him. The team caught him before he hit the floor and they helped him into the chair next to Darcy. He took Darcy’s limp hand between his own and bent over it. The doctor kindly left them alone as they circled her bed. No one ever spoke about the promises and pleads Steve whispered to Darcy, or about the sobs that wrecked his frame. “I love you,” he cried, over and over again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Everyone let their tears fall, even Natasha, without a trace of shame.

Eventually, the doctor returned. “Visiting hours last for another hour,” he said gently. “Only one family member is allowed to spend the night.”

Steve looked up. “May I—can I—”

Gamelan nodded. “Yes.” He shuffled a folder in his hands. “Are you still comfortable disclosing all of Ms. Lewis’s information in the presence of everyone?”

“Yes,” Natasha said, discretely wiping away the marks on her cheeks. “Is there something else?”

“Actually, yes.” He smiled at the group in front of him. “We weren’t sure earlier, but I just received the results from Ms. Lewis’ ultrasound. You have a very strong little one,” he said, handing the folder to Steve. “We can officially confirm that the baby is safe.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by—

_“WHAT?!”_

“Are you telling us,” Tony said, pointing a finger at Steve, “that he knocked Lewis up?”

Dr. Gamelan closed his mouth. “I—I take it you didn’t know.”

“We knew they were together,” Natasha muttered, “but we thought they were being safe.”

“We were!” Steve stammered, staring at the closed folder in front of him. “Is—is… is the baby ok?”

The doctor nodded. “The baby is resilient. Ms. Lewis is roughly six or seven weeks along. It’s entirely possible she didn’t know.”

Steve gently placed the folder at the foot of the bed and buried his head in his hands again. Clint was the first to speak. “Steve…” he laid a hand on his shoulder. “Steve, are you alright?”

“Darcy’s pregnant.” He slowly raised his head. “She’s pregnant. We… we’re going to have a baby.” The edges of his lips turned up, going higher and higher until he was outright beaming. “We’re going to have a baby! I’m going to be a father!” He leapt up and caught Clint up in a bone-crushing embrace. He let go and repeated the hug with Natasha and Tony and the doctor. “We’re going to have a baby!”

“Боже мой!” Natasha muttered.

“Damn straight,” Clint added, a smile on his own lips. “Damn straight.”

*

Tony arranged for Darcy to get a fancy private toom and the team rarely left her side. Once everyone else found out—Jane cursed herself for lending Darcy her car and then screamed (in a good way) when she learned that her friend was pregnant—they took turns, although Steve kept a permanent shift. He refused to leave and in the end Bruce had to sedate him to let Steve rest.

For over a week, Darcy remained unconscious. Gamelan assured them it was a normal outcome, and it was only a matter of time before she woke up. They ignored the unspoken “if she wakes up” in the statement and kept their vigil.

Then, late Tuesday morning while Steve lay snoozing in a chair next to her bed, he heard a very soft, very familiar groan. In a flash, he was upright and by her side.

Darcy gave a weak cough and moaned again.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Steve whispered through his tears. He gently laid his hand on the part of Darcy’s face that was still unharmed. “You have a couple of broken ribs."

She leaned into his hand and frowned. “Hurts,” she murmured.

Steve bounded out of the room and nearly slammed into a medical student in the hallway. “A doctor! Please, get Dr. Gamelan. She’s awake!” And he rushed back in. “Don’t worry, doll, a doctor’s coming. You had me so scared.”

Darcy’s eyes slowly fluttered open and Steve choked back a cry when her bright blue eyes settled on his. “W—what… what happened?”

“You were in a car accident. You’re in the hospital.”

“H-h-head.”

He gave her a tense smile. “You hit your head really hard. I guess you were sleeping off the headache. I was afraid you were going to sleep as long as I did.” He pressed a light kiss to her lips. She made a noise of protest and Steve quickly pulled back. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

She was staring wide-eyed at him. “Why did you kiss me?”

Steve opened his mouth, ready to reply with an easy joke, when Gamelan walked in.

“Hello, Ms. Lewis.” He smiled down at her. “How are you feeling?”

“I hurt,” she croaked. “What did you call me?”

“Ms. Lewis.”

“Why?”

Steve could feel his smile start to slip. “Darcy?”

She turned to Steve. “What did you say?”

“Darcy,” he said slowly. He could almost feel Gamelan stiffen behind him.

“Why?”

“Because that’s your name.” He reached out to touch her hand and froze when she pulled away. “Darce?”

She slowly shook her head. “I—I don’t… That’s not my name.”

“Ms. Lewis—”

She shook her head harder. “My name—that’s not my name. I—I don’t—I don’t know… Who are you?”

“Darcy… I’m Steve. I’m your boyfriend.” He started to breathe a little harder when she stared blankly at him. He felt a tightening in his chest he hadn’t felt in over seventy years and he wondered absently if he was having an asthma attack. “Steve, Steven Grant Rogers. I’m your boyfriend. You, you threatened to taze me the first time we met because I kept calling you ma’am.” She kept staring and he started talking faster. “Your name is Darcy Marie Lewis. You’re from Philadelphia. You studied political science and you love music and baking cupcakes and you hate snakes and you make fun of hipsters and—and… Darcy?”

Darcy’s eyes filled with water and she looked up at the doctor, then back at him. “I’m—I’m sorry, I—I don’t…”

Gamelan spoke up, his voice steady. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

She moved her eyes, thinking and Steve could see the gears turning in her head and he knew what she was going to say before she said it. “I don’t remember… I can’t remember… I can’t.

“I can’t remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I researched what I could on hospital proceedure, NYC hospitals, and comas. I have no idea what broken ribs are like, so I apologize if it's not realistic. All mistakes are mine and Google's. 
> 
> [Боже мой---Oh my god.]
> 
> Any ideas on what'll happen next?


	3. Abortion, Broken Ribs, and Jarvis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Steve thinks about Darcy and the baby, and Darcy leaves the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, at a suggestion, I watched the trailer for the Vow. My scene ended up like the one from the movie, and I swear I haven’t seen the movie. I got the idea from a car accident on the freeway, thinking ‘what would happen if you hit your head really hard?’ It transferred into the Darcyverse, so here I am.
> 
> What I mean by the rambling is that I’ll try to take this in a different direction than the movie. I still haven’t seen it, so I won’t be influenced, but I’ll try my best to keep this realistic.—TMD

“Doctor—”

Gamelan raised a hand at Steve and looked at Darcy. “I would like for you to just breathe for a moment, ok?” Darcy nodded and did as ordered, and once she looked a little calmer Gamelan started talking. “My name is Tim Gamelan; I’m your doctor. I understand that you might be a little confused at the moment.”

Darcy nodded and it killed Steve to see the fear in her eyes. “What happened?”

Gamelan opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and looked over at Steve. There was unspoken question in his face, and Steve left the room. He closed the door gently behind him and sat in a chair just outside. He could hear their voices through the door, Darcy trying to understand everything the doctor was saying.

Jane walked up the hallway, two cups of coffee in her hand, and sat next to him. She handed one over and he automatically took it. “She’s awake,” he said.

“What?” Jane stood up and her coffee went flying. “Steve! Is she ok? Can I see her?” She looked at the door. “Is the doctor looking at her?”

Steve managed to keep his voice steady. “She doesn’t remember.”

“What, the accident? Good, it’s probably for the best—”

“Jane, she doesn’t remember anything.” Jane’s smile disappeared. “She… she doesn’t remember what happened. She doesn’t even remember her name.” He took a deep breath.  “She doesn’t remember me.”

*

He could count on one hand the number of times he’d cried.

He had cried the day his mother was quarantined for TB; with his health, he’d known he’d never visit or see her alive again.

He had cried the day Bucky died. After the failed attempt at getting drunk, he’d holed himself in his bunk and mourned his brother’s loss.

Twice in one day, he cried for Darcy—and now, the tears refused to come. So he did the next best thing.

Nightfall found Steve boxing his way through the entire supply of punching bags the Tower had to offer. He hadn’t been there at night since he’d started dating Darcy, but there was no way he could put up any longer with the pitying expressions on his team’s faces.

The doctor told them Darcy had retrograde amnesia; it was a fancy term for forgetting what happened before the accident. Darcy hadn’t been able to remember anything, not her name, not the date, not even who the president of the country was. Gamelan explained that cases like Darcy’s were tricky. It was entirely possible she would remember everything after a good night’s sleep; it was also as likely that she would never remember it again.

Steve kicked the carcass of the latest punching bag away and hung up a new one.

Darcy had fallen asleep and woken up later that same day. She remembered a few more things: she was in New York City; she recited the preamble to the Declaration of Independence; she knew how to work a remote control. Then it went south fast when she looked into a mirror and didn’t recognize herself.

Darcy was healed enough to go home, but Gamelan recommended keeping her in the hospital a little longer, hoping she could remember more before they discharged her. He also mentioned that something might spark her memory and it would come back, either in pieces or all at once. The team had tried, meeting her one by one so that they wouldn’t scare her. It had backfired, leaving Darcy even more shaken up than before. They tried not to react, but everyone looked on at Steve with such sorry looks in their eyes until he couldn’t handle it anymore.

Steve punched clean through the last bag in one sweeping blow. He bent forward, panting, and tried to catch his breath.

They didn’t know when Darcy would get better, so at the suggestion of the hospital psychologist they arranged for her to move into her old apartment suite at the Tower, before she shared one with Steve. The psychologist believed her possessions might bring back memories a little at a time, and sharing a room with Steve might overwhelm her.

And that brought around a fact that made Steve pull on a sweatshirt and his running shoes and set off for Central Park.

They weren’t going to tell Darcy about the baby.

Steve had protested, telling Gamelan and the shrink that he _knew_ Darcy; he _knew_ that she would want to know so she could take care of herself for the baby. The assassins remained silent, knowing it was a private topic they had no say in; the Science Bros and Jane were on his side, arguing that Darcy had a right to know.

But the medical branch had been adamant; even though they knew her, Darcy wasn’t herself. The woman in the hospital bed wasn’t the same amazing badass she was. She could behave in unexpected ways, even going so far as to get rid of the baby. The thought of an abortion sobered everyone and they finally, reluctantly consented.

Steve raced through the park at breakneck speed, catching the attention of the occasional drug dealer or hobo. He couldn’t bring himself to care, pushing ahead as fast as he could. The serum allowed for super abilities, but unfortunately that included extra energy and adrenaline he couldn’t get rid of. He wished Thor was around; a spar with the god of Thunder would work wonders. But Thor had been called away on diplomatic Asgardian business; he was still a prince, even if he had renounced the right to rule, and it would be months before he came back.

So Steve settled for pounding away at the pavement until the sun poked its head over the bank of trees and he could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. He trudged back to the tower, where the team gave him the news.

Darcy was being released.

* * *

 

They said her name was Darcy. That was a funny sounding name, wasn’t it? It almost sounded like the jerk from Pride and Prejudice, something she actually remembered.

It was funny. She couldn’t call up anything from her memories, but when she looked at something, it clicked in her brain. The hospital’s psychologist, Sharon, had her go through an exhaustive list of everything she could and couldn’t remember, and then they worked on “recognition exercises.”

It turned out Darcy was very good with implicit recognition, especially with technology. She picked up a remote control and scrolled through the television channels; they handed her a cell-phone and she knew how to call someone on the contacts list and change the ringtone. They set her loose on a computer, and it seemed that Darcy had very good tech skills because she found her way into the laptop’s drive and found Gamelan’s deleted vacation pics to Florida. She could even type without looking at the keyboard.

A couple of psychologists joined Sharon and they went through even more exercises. Those were harder. She could recognize Abraham Lincoln and George Washington, but she didn’t know why Clinton was impeached or that Puerto Rico was a US territory. She had no idea how to do math beyond simple algebra (which, they assured her, was perfectly normal). She couldn’t name the main characters of Harry Potter, know who Katy Perry was, or recognize the phrase ‘to infinity and beyond.’

She recognized enough social structure to know you say ‘bless you’ when someone sneezed, that you held the elevator for someone to get on, and that you tell white lies to women trying on dresses.

The prognosis was split; Darcy’s procedural memory was excellent—she would have no trouble tying her shoes or ordering a pizza or even driving again, once she healed. Her semantic memory was fine, too; Darcy would be able to talk, work, and function in social norms like a normal human being.

The episodic memory, on the other hand, was completely gone. Darcy had no idea where she grew up, if she was an only child or if her parents were even alive. Apparently, they were, but she had a very bad relationship with them. She couldn’t even remember that she was allergic to shellfish.

In the end, the medical people decided she was able to go back home.

Even if she didn’t know where home was.

Luckily, Darcy had family and friends.

Well, that’s what they kept telling her.

She had met a series of people over the last two days, but only two were with her when she was released.

Her cousin Natasha—she didn’t see any resemblance, but she reckoned she wasn’t in top form at the moment—brought her clothes from home and helped her change. The loose, floppy sweater and formfitting jeans felt a hell of a lot better than the scratchy hospital gown. The clothes were comfortable, almost _familiar_ , and she longed to raise her arms and _stretch_.

Unfortunately, broken ribs were painful. Like, _excruciating_ pain every time she took a breath and no matter how many different ways she tried to move it never got better than a sore, throbbing pain biting through the bone. The doctors refused to give her anything stronger than Tylenol—something about an allergy to morphine or codeine or something else she forgot about while they were debriefing her.

Darcy sighed, winced, and stood up from her bed. Natasha and Jane, a friend from college, held her steady while she caught her breath. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Natasha said. Jane only wiped away at her eyes and called the doctor in.

“Are you sure you’re ready to leave?”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “If you guys ask me one more time, I’m going to—to—”

“—taze someone?” Natasha supplied helpfully.

“Actually, that sounds like a great idea.” Darcy had no idea why that made Jane dissolve into a new round of tears. She wondered asking if Jane was pregnant—or PMSing—but decided that was probably a little too much for a person she didn’t even remember. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Gamelan pulled out a series of papers and Darcy took the pen from his hand. The moment the tip touched the paper her signature flowed effortlessly onto the dotted line. “Whoa.” She pulled the pen back and looked at it. “What was that?”

“Muscle memory,” Gamelan said. “Your body remembers certain actions and can perform them automatically. Try to see if it works with other things when you get home.”

“Ok.” And with a reminder for an appointment, they left the room.

*

Darcy remembered absolutely nothing about her past life, but going off what everyone had told the doctor at the hospital, she was sure she wasn’t supposed to be going to Manhattan.

The taxi pulled to a stop in front of a tall, shiny tower. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, or anything,” she said slowly, “but what are we doing in the middle of the city?”

Jane and Natasha shared a long look. “Let’s get inside first.” They carefully hauled Darcy out of the taxi and she caught sight of a lobby full of people before they were inside an empty elevator.

The doors barely had a chance to close before a voice came from nowhere. “Hello, Miss Lewis.”

“Holy shit!” Darcy jumped and that turned out to be a bad idea, because her ribs were suddenly on fire and it felt like her chest was going to explode. “Holy mother fucking, son of a crack-whore biscuit—”

“I am so sorry, Miss Lewis.”

Once Darcy got her breathing and her pain under control, she looked up to the ceiling. “What the hell?”

“Jarvis,” Natasha’s voice was steady, but there was an ice-cold note to it that cut straight into Darcy’s core. That was not a voice she wanted to mess with.

“I apologize, Agent Romanoff.”

“Agent? Natasha, what the—”

“It might be best if we wait until everyone gets together,” Jane said quickly, and Darcy agreed because it looked like Natasha was two seconds away from prying the cover off the elevator buttons and she knew that wouldn’t end well. The elevator finally stopped and with a ding, they got out.

This time, the question came out with an entirely different tone. “What the…”

Tony, her boss, walked into the room and looked up from... it was called a… tablet. Yeah, a tablet. “Oh, you’re here. Jarvis, call down the rest of the team, would you?”

The same British voice that scared her in the elevator instantly answered ‘yes, sir’ from the ceiling and Darcy decided sitting on the couch was the best decision for her mental state. That, and she doubted her ribs could withstand another scare.

“Could someone please—”

Natasha shook her head. “Wait until everyone gets here.” Her voice was still a little hard so Darcy decided to shut her mouth. She looked around the room instead. It was huge; an entire wall was made up of glass, overlooking the city, and shiny, expensive-looking things were all over the room. It still looked strangely cozy and Darcy felt that same pang of familiarity course through her. A fluffy blanket lay thrown over a very soft-looking sofa, and there were empty takeout containers on the coffee table. A videogame system, Darcy didn’t recognize which one, was resting in front of a blank wall. A kitchenette was in another corner of the room and for some reason Darcy really wanted to search through the cabinets above the refrigerator.

All in all, the room felt homey, and that’s as far as Darcy got before the elevator opened again and people started spilling out. She stiffened, winced at the pain in her ribs, and then relaxed when she realized she knew the people inside.

Well, sort of. “I don’t understand.”

Natasha’s husband, Clint, rubbed the back of his head. “Well, we aren’t exactly who we said we are.”

Darcy’s hair should’ve stood on end at his words; she should’ve felt the urge to run, to scream, some sense of fear. Instead, the words sounded right and she found herself saying. “Ok.”

Clint’s eyes went wide and he exchanged a look with Natasha, who merely shrugged.

And there the people told her that she lived with a bunch of superheroes. They were a group called the Avengers and fought bad guys and all lived together in a tower, not an apartment building like they’d told her at the hospital.

Clint and Natasha weren’t married; they were partners. Natasha wasn’t her cousin either.

Tony was her boss, but he was also Iron Man and made things go boom in his labs downstairs and needed Darcy to remind him to eat and sleep. Jarvis was the robot-voice butler that ran the tower and scared her earlier.

Bruce wasn’t a family friend, but merely a friend that became green and big when angry.

Jane was still Jane, but also her old boss and a super-genius and dating a guy with a thunder-hammer called Thor who was a _prince_ and off on royal business.

And then there was her boyfriend. Yeah, she was dating a scientifically enhanced soldier from World War II that liked to carry a shield. Not that he looked bad for being over ninety years old.

After the team (because they were all a team) told her everything, Darcy just sat there. She could see the worried looks on everyone’s faces, but she just sat there and looked at them. Finally, she spoke. “I believe you.”

Tony was the first to speak. “What?”

“I believe you.” She looked down at her hands, carefully looking them over. “I don’t have any superpowers, do I?”

“No.” That came from Bruce. He took his glasses off, wiped them with his shirt, and put them back on. “Are you really alright with this?”

“I believe you. I can’t say why, but it feels right.” A sharp pain flashed through her head and she raised a hand to her forehead. In a second, Steve was at her side.

“Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

“It…my head just hurt.” She rubbed her temple and looked up at Steve. “So, you and me?”

A slight flush colored Steve’s face and a funny feeling went through Darcy’s chest. Not a bad feeling, but a funny feeling.

“Yeah.” He gave her a small grin and the feeling went through her again. “Um, you, you and—and I are…” he blushed deeper and Darcy smothered a giggle.

Bruce cleared his throat and Steve sprang back up. It left Darcy feeling strangely empty. “Why don’t we let Darcy settle in?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Darcy stood up and followed Steve into the elevator. Tony and Clint made to follow her, but Natasha stepped in front of them.

“No.”

Jane smiled at her and sidestepped into the elevator with them. “Let’s go,” she whispered over Tony and Clint's protests to Natasha.

The elevator went down several floors and opened into a cool hallway with boxes piled over the floor.

“Did I just move in?” Darcy asked.

“Actually,” Steve said, running a hand through his hair, “the doctors said it’s best for you to get settled on your own first.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she said.

It sounded a little bitchy, but for some reason that made Steve smile. “The boxes are here because all of your stuff was in our floor.”

“So we were living together?” The butterflies fluttered around in her stomach at the thought before flying somewhere decidedly lower. Darcy mentally shook herself for thinking those kinds of thoughts about a guy she didn’t even know. Even though she did know him, kind of.

Steve opened his mouth, ready to answer, and he suddenly snapped it shut. Jane saw and answered for him. “Yes. The doctors said it was best for you to be alone for a little bit, so we moved your things back in here.” She gestured around. “This was your apartment before you moved in together.”

They offered to give her a tour of the space, but Darcy waved them off, saying it was best if she did the walk-through on her own. She saw them off at the elevator, and caught the look in Steve’s eyes just before the doors closed.

She wondered if it was really for the best she was alone.

Then she laughed at herself for daydreaming and turned back to the apartment, ready to find memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was longer than I thought. I'm going through finals, but I'll try to update more soon.
> 
> Wish me luck, and let me know if you liked it!


	4. Sacrifice, Thai Food, and Emails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad News: I know I haven't updated in nearly two months. I have no excuses other than real life sucks, school was closed for two days, and I am sorry. 
> 
> Good News: TWO CHAPTER UPDATE! Read this and read the next and let me know what you think! Please?

 

 

It hurt. A lot. Rationally, Steve knew it wasn’t the same Darcy from before. She was too quiet, too polite, too subdued to be the fireball of energy and inappropriate jokes he loved. But then she smirked at him and sassily asked why she was on her own floor and Steve knew his Darcy was in there somewhere.

It would be easy to just sit her down and tell her everything, especially about the baby, but the doctors were right. This Darcy wasn’t the same Darcy; his Darcy would’ve demanded explanations for lying to her about who they were, spouted off conspiracy theories and threatened everyone with her taser.

She wouldn’t have just sat there and accepted their word for it. There was no guarantee the idea of a baby wouldn’t scare her into doing something drastic.

So Steve swallowed hard and pushed the thought of their baby to the back of his mind. It wouldn’t stay there for long, so he quickly left the Tower and returned to SHIELD Headquarters. There was no way he would be able to stay close and not let something slip. His family wasn’t worth the risk, and if he needed to stay away until Darcy got better, then he would do it.

Stupid self-sacrificing bastard.

* * *

Broken ribs got old _fast._ Darcy was grateful that her leg wasn’t broken as well, or she’d be carting herself around in a wheelchair instead of limping through her floor.

There was an entire floor for her; that couldn’t be typical. She didn’t have nearly enough boxes to fill the space, so she was grateful for that at least. After her quick look around—it made her think of a hotel rather than an apartment—she decided her ribs needed a rest and started nosing around the boxes.

It seemed like a good idea: Darcy would unpack and then memories would start coming back, and soon she’d be back to normal (whatever normal was). Reality was harder, though, and unpacking turned into slow, somewhat sorry work.

She left the living room area, where most of the boxes were concentrated, for later.

She started off in the bedroom, since she needed a place to sleep. The bed was thankfully already made with an oversized shirt laid out in lieu of pajamas. Darcy had no idea who to thank—the boyfriend, the bestie, the boss or the spies—but she was grateful because there was no way she was going to button or zip something over her ribs. The dislocated shoulder was healed, but she’d be unable to do much with her torso for a while.

Darcy left the bedding and curtains for later and headed straight for the box on the nightstand. She pulled out an alarm clock, some lotions, a flashlight… They all seemed like normal items. Then she pulled out a small square tablet, a tiny silver clicker and a huge gun that turned out to be a taser.

She stared at the last item until she finally gathered the courage to pick it up. It fit comfortably in her hand and she automatically checked the battery, the cartridge, and smoothly pulled the taser into shooting position, laser trained on a blank spot on the wall. She then immediately dropped it back in the box and sat on the bed.

“What the hell was that?”

At least her muscle memory still worked. She ran through anything she could think of for keeping a taser in a nightstand, and she settled on the most reasonable choice: storage. Why else would she need a taser at all?

The square tablet, once she turned it on, turned out to be a sort of master control for the apartment. Playing with the lights and window shades cheered her up a little, and she curiously inspected the silver disk with a button on top. There was no battery, no name, and she was about to push down on the button when a voice barked out, “ _don’t touch that!_ ”

She screamed and threw the clicker, and the voice sighed. “I apologize, Miss Lewis, but that is for extreme emergencies only. That is a panic button and if you were to depress it, the team would be notified and arrive to your aid.”

Right… Jarvis; he was the giant talking voice that lived inside the walls. That would have been useful to know, and her heart wouldn’t be trying to rip her ribs open. It wasn’t right to say something that rude, especially after she’d cursed him in the elevator, so she just managed a quiet “thank you, Jarvis.”

“You are welcome, Miss Lewis.” She swore the AI sounded disconcerted.

Darcy made progress in the bedroom and was stopped by a lunch reminder in the form of Jane. The petite woman stepped out of the elevator with two plastic bags of food. “I picked up some Thai,” she said nervously. “It’s your favorite.”

They set up in the kitchen area and Jane helpfully popped open the take-out containers. It looked delicious until the smell hit her nose and Darcy barely made it to the bathroom in time. She threw up the little breakfast she’d had that morning and when she finally surfaced, Jane was bravely holding back her hair and rubbing her back gently.

“Are you ok?”

No, she really wasn’t. Her ribs were ready to explode and tears raced down her face. Jane fetched a glass of water and after a few rinses, Darcy was able to speak. “What was that?”

Jane bit her lip and looked quickly between Darcy, the kitchen, and down at the toilet. “I guess it doesn’t like Thai.”

“What doesn’t?”

Jane blushed. “T-the-the medicines, obviously,” she stammered. She remained nervous up until she left, even after tossing out the Thai and finding cereal to eat instead. “I’ll let everyone know not to bother you.”

“What a strange person,” Darcy muttered to herself. Her ribs really didn’t feel like unpacking anymore, so she went in search of something she could study without moving: a computer. According to the shrinks, electronics were a staple in every home. She hadn’t seen a desktop sort of model anywhere in the apartment, so she started digging for a laptop. It was inside a box full of wires, headphones, chargers and what looked like an iPod.

The battery was charged all the way, so Darcy copped a seat on the sofa and started it up. “Password,” she murmured. “Password is…” She had absolutely no idea, but maybe her fingers did. She rested them on the keyboard and they flew over the keys before hitting ‘enter.’ Whatever her password was, she typed it too fast to track, but at least she could still unlock the laptop.

Her hands navigated automatically to the internet icon, and her home page turned out to be a mixture of email, news streaming, some sort of videos and something called Tumblr. “Let’s see what this is,” she said, clicking open her email. The page loaded and a grand total blinked in the corner: 427 unread emails. “What the hell?” She’d only been gone a week!

She looked through them, and slowly clicked through the inbox. Even she could tell what junk mail was, and deleted half of the messages. The other half was disconcerting.

“Mission debrief… Press conference… Park inauguration?” She read through the emails, giving her times and dates and locations and names and instructions until her head began to swim. “What _is_ all this?” She looked around the room, trying to find something that might help her figure out what she had to do with all the emails.

Naturally, the room was empty and the boxes didn’t help at all. Darcy bit her lip, wondering if…

“Hey, Jarvis?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis?”

“What do I do?”

The AI was quiet for a moment. “Are you referring to your occupation?”

That was a funny way of wording it. “Yes, please.”

“Your official job title is public liaison for the Avengers. As such, you handle all interactions with the press, oversee events, manage fundraisers, and assist with dispatch, debriefings, and medical visits for missions.”

Darcy felt her jaw drop open. “ _Missions?_ ”

“Yes, when the team goes on official Avengers business.”

She waved her hand in a vague circle shape. “I do _all that?_ ”

Jarvis paused. “Yes.”

Darcy took a deep breath and winced. She really needed to stop doing that. How could she possibly have handled all that work before her accident? An image of a cell phone and organizer flashed in her head, followed by a sharp pain in her head. “Ow.” She rubbed her temple and sighed. “Jarvis, how bad is it that I’ve been gone so long?”

He didn’t answer.

“Jarvis?”

“Miss Potts and Agent Coulson have made attempts at handling the workload,” he said slowly.

She had no idea who he was talking about. “Attempts?”

“It has… been difficult.”

So those people, whoever they were, were trying to do her job. Darcy had no idea what that meant, but given the amount of emails she guessed it was pretty important. It was her job, no matter what it entailed, and something in her gut told her it was her duty to handle it.

At least it would give her something to do.

She looked at the computer screen again; there was no way she was going to sort through everything on that tiny computer screen. “Jarvis, do I have any paper?”

The AI, sounding surprised, set her up at the dining room table with a legal pad, a calendar, and the laptop. Darcy surveyed her work area, nodded to herself, and got to work.

She began by writing down each event and its logistical information, and with Jarvis’ help she got contact information and started scheduling. Despite the mess of details, everything fit together like puzzle pieces in her head. She found her cell phone and even though she had no memory of anything she was dealing with, she got on the phone decided to talk to everyone who had emailed her.

She timidly dialed the first number on her list. The ringing tone filled her with panic, but the moment the person on the other line picked up, her voice answered in a polite, cool tone. “Hello? Mr. Withers? Yes, this is Darcy Lewis. I apologize for how long it’s taken me to respond, but I do have a time for the hospital visits next week…”

After she hung up, Darcy got in a groove, and she worked her way through until her inbox was cleared. When she put her pen down and deleted the last email, Darcy was surprised by the smile on her face. She was also surprised by how dark it was outside her windows.

“What time is it?” she asked Jarvis.

“It is approximately 8:30 in the evening, Miss Lewis.”

“Oh.” She’d worked the entire day away. “Ok.” She organized her papers and planner and left everything on the table. “I guess dinner’s in order.”

Dinner turned out to be cereal again, since the meatballs Darcy found in the refrigerator—filled with raw ingredients and helpfully labeled Tupperware containers—made her gag again. She sat on her couch and munched quietly. The sound was too loud in the empty room. “Jarvis, what do I usually do?”

“You usually spend your evenings with Captain Rogers, or with the rest of the team.”

That made sense; a woman hung out with her boyfriend, especially if they lived together. A part of Darcy wondered what would happen if she went upstairs to the common room. The rest of her, though, was afraid. She wasn’t afraid of the people—they did feel familiar, and she felt that she could trust them. The problem was that she didn’t know them.

She didn’t know herself. Was she normally quiet or loud? Did she keep to herself or did she butt into people’s business? She didn’t know if she was liked or disliked, which of the people living in the tower were her friends, or if maybe she didn’t get along with someone on the team. Jane was very nice; she’d brought Darcy lunch (or tried to, at least). But Jane had also been very strange, staring awkwardly at Darcy after she threw up.

Maybe Jane was just being polite; maybe she was just disconcerted by Darcy’s accident; maybe she was just squeamish.

The bottom line was, Darcy didn’t know. She didn’t know them, she didn’t know herself or who she was supposed to be, and she would rather not piss off her superhero neighbors.

And then there was Steve. Darcy didn’t even begin to know how to handle a boyfriend. They lived together, apparently, but what did that really mean?

It was best for her to just stay down in her apartment.

But it was so quiet.

“Jarvis, could you play some music?”

Sound suddenly exploded into the room and Darcy screamed. The music shut off and she glared at the ceiling. “What the hell was that?!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Lewis. I continued your playlist from where you paused last week.”

“Then I have horrible taste in music.” She rubbed at her ears. “What the hell is the matter with me?”

It was a rhetorical question, so thankfully he didn’t answer.

Darcy looked around and found her laptop again. She moved it to the coffee table and sat down in front of the screen. The background shone mockingly on her; it was a still-shot of her and Steve. She was sitting in his lap, and they were outside somewhere, and he was wearing sunglasses and she had on a baseball hat. Judging from the angle of the shot, she was the one taking the picture. She had her eyes closed, lips pressed against Steve’s forehead just short of his eye. His mouth was open, laughing silently and his arm was thrown around her waist. Her own arm was around his neck, bringing them closer, and they looked so happy…

She reached out and slammed the laptop shut. Those people were happy. The girl in the picture wasn’t her, and Darcy wasn’t sure she deserved to try to replace her.

She put her still full bowl in the sink and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is up!


	5. Russian Sentiment, Muffliato, and Pushing Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER!

 

 

Jarvis’ voice rang out in the common room. “Miss Lewis has retired.”

“Finally,” Tony muttered. He was lying on the floor, head resting by Pepper’s feet. “How is she?”

“She seems quite lost.”

“She lost her memory,” Natasha said in a cold tone that passed for Russian concern. “She has no conception of normal.”

“I’m worried about Steve,” Pepper said from her spot on the couch. “Where is he anyway?”

“Back at HQ,” Natasha said. She was next to Bruce in the loveseat. “Clint’s keeping an eye on him.”

“That can’t be healthy,” Bruce sighed. He took a long drink from his tea. “What’s he doing?”

Natasha typed a quick message into a cell phone that appeared from nowhere. She put it away a minute later. “He’s attacking punching bags.”

“Again?” Bruce asked.

“Apparently he broke two of the treadmills and Hill threatened to send him home.”

Jane looked up at the ceiling from her armchair. “And Darcy?”

“Miss Lewis…” If Jarvis were human, he’d be biting his lip or wringing his hands, but as he was simply body-less, he spoke on. “I believe she would like to be useful.”

Jane frowned. “Useful how? I thought she was setting up her apartment.”

“She has found her email and cleared away a full inbox. She organized the next three weeks for the team, starting with attending the NYC Green fundraiser this weekend.”

“She’s working?!” Tony sprang up and nearly beaned himself on the coffee table. “She just got discharged today!”

“Maybe she’d trying to get back to normal,” Bruce said. “If she follows her normal routine, something might trigger her memory.”

“Did she at least look through the boxes?” Natasha asked.

“Miss Lewis sorted through the boxes in her bedroom, but that was the extent of her progress. She was unsettled by finding the taser in her nightstand.”

“I told you not to put it there!” Pepper cried, throwing a cushion at Tony. 

“What! That’s where she always puts it!” It was true; when Tony had given Darcy a new taser, disguised as a pen and able to go through the metal detectors at the airport, she’d retired her old taser to her nightstand. For security, she’d said, or if I ever lose my new one.

“She seemed disturbed by the instrument, Sir.”

“I don’t think she realizes the danger in her life,” Natasha said. It wasn’t callous, but the words were harsh. “She needs to remember that she is a key member in our lives and can be used for leverage. If she were kidnapped, held hostage or killed, it would severely incapacitate all of us.”

“Thank you, Natasha,” Jane growled out.

“And then there is the issue of the baby—”

Jane threw her hands over her face. “Don’t mention it!”

Natasha opened her mouth to say more, but Bruce covered her hand with his and shook his head.

Jane had been a failed try at bridging the gap between them and Darcy. The team thought Jane, being her best girlfriend, was the best choice at communicating with Darcy. They had thought that if Jane brought Darcy food, maybe talked a little girl talk and asked after her, they might start bringing their friend’s memories back from wherever they’d gone. Instead, the Thai food made everything FUBAR, and then Jane had nearly let it out that Darcy’s puking was due to morning sickness.

After she came back, the scientist had nearly worried herself into an anxiety attack, panicking that Darcy would find out about the baby and something horrible would happen. Bruce had to calm her down, but Jane was still upset, especially when Jarvis said that Darcy had skipped dinner.

“She needs to eat,” Jane muttered, aware of the irony; Darcy was supposed to look after her, not the other way around. “Oh god, Steve’s going to kill me…”

“No, he isn’t,” Pepper said gently. She walked over and hugged the trembling woman. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

“I hope so.”

* * *

“If you hit that any harder, we’re going to have to arrest you for domestic abuse.”

Steve ignored the voice and kept punching away.

“Really, what did the poor bag ever do to you?”

1, 2, 3… jab, jab, uppercut, left hook, right hook… 

“I’m going to ask Bruce for one of the Hulk darts.” Those things were only in case the Hulk ever got out of hand—and he hadn’t yet—but they could theoretically put Steve in a coma for days.

That was an interesting scenario. “What do you want, Barton?” He aimed one last punch and the bag flew off the hook into the wall. When it fell, it left a bag-shaped dent in the cement; it matched the other twelve punching bag holes.

“It speaks!” He jumped off the overhead light hanging from the ceiling and landed soundlessly next to Steve.

“What do you want?” Steve ground out.

“Natasha to stop coming to bed with cold feet.”

_“Barton!”_

“Alright, alright,” he held his hands up in a ‘calm down’ motion. “She does have cold feet, though. We’re worried about you, Cap.”

“I’m fine.” He turned to hang up the next bag.

“You’re not fine,” Clint said, “and this is coming from _me_. Cap, your girl just—”

_“Don’t!”_ He hooked the bag on so hard the chain creaked.

“It’s ok.” Clint pulled a thin silver chain from around his neck and held up a tiny square plate that hung from it. “Stark gave me the Eavesdropper.” After everyone started living together, Tony had designed a special noise cancelling device: for more private conversations, he’d said. It emitted a sound frequency that cancelled all sound two feet from the square. It also made a fuzzy sort of cloud form around the dead space to avoid lip-reading—no one knew how that was physically possible, but he was Tony Stark, so all arguments were invalid. Seeing the Eavesdropper outside of the Tower was rare; Tony only lent it out for missions or special occasions after an incident involving the major of the Quebec, a clown, and six bottles of orange juice. Darcy jokingly called it the Muffliato. 

Darcy.

“No one can hear us,” Clint continued. It was the first thing the team had agreed on when they learned about Darcy’s amnesia: they weren’t going to talk about Darcy’s memory, and absolutely, definitely, under no circumstance whatsoever, were they going to even think about her pregnancy. As far as anyone knew—everyone being Fury, Hill, and Coulson—Darcy had been in a car accident and was just healing up, no visitors allowed.

But Clint didn’t seem to care, and with the Eavesdropper in place he pushed on. “Cap, your girl was just in an accident, she’s pregnant, she doesn’t know it, and she can’t remember you. You’re not fine.”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek and turned back to the bag. 

“Don’t shut me out, Cap.” Clint’s voice took on a hard edge, showing Steve a little of what made him Hawkeye. “You keep things bottled up, you’re asking for trouble.”

As if Steve didn’t remember. He’d met Darcy after the Battle of New York. SHIELD had wanted him more fully caught up with the twenty-first century, and when Jane showed up at Stark Tower, raving for Thor and Darcy in tow, Fury assigned Darcy as Steve’s tutor. 

Darcy hadn’t been happy; as she put it: “you’re seriously hot, and thanks for saving the city and the world and all, but I’m not gonna let some government secret-agent-spy-thugs walk over me.”

Getting out of tutoring sessions proved a waste of energy; after getting kicked out of Fury’s office four times, and Hill’s twice, Darcy went on with the lessons. After Steve gave up on ma’am-ing her, he and Darcy got really close. She was absolutely unlike any woman he had ever met, either in his time or hers, and she threw every idea and misconception and notion he had about women right out the window. It wasn’t that he was a misogynist—he was raised by a widowed woman and he’s been friends with Peggy Carter—but Darcy was brash and pushy, and she was full of life and laughter and completely unafraid of speaking her mind. It got her in more trouble than anyone cared to admit, but she took on each day with a smile on her face and a taser in her hand. 

Then SHIELD moved him to DC, where he started training a new recruit for the team. Things seemed ok, until his last link to the past, Margaret “Peggy” Carter, passed away in her sleep. 

Peggy’s death sent Steve into a serious depression. He refused to talk about it with shrinks, his team, or his friends, and it spin-tailed out of control. 

Then Darcy flew in and slapped him silly. Actually, she tased him. She yelled his ears off and handed his ass to him, and essentially willed him into action. She got him out of his head and helped him get it back on straight. 

She stayed with him for a while, and with all the time they spent together, plus her helping him out, they became best friends.  Eventually they returned to New York, and Steve worked up the nerve to ask her on a date. Fast forward to three years later, and they lived together in one of the Tower’s apartments. 

Darcy ended up becoming the liaison for the team; her scientist-wrangling skills prepared her for handling both the media and Tony Stark. Steve liked to tease her about working for the very thugs she hated. She usually shut him up with a kiss, although sometimes she just punched his arm and hurt her hand.

So yes, Steve knew damn well what happened the last time he shut everyone out. Darcy, Darcy, Darcy… Everything tied back to Darcy, who wasn’t his Darcy anymore. 

“Leave me alone, Barton. That’s an order.”

“Bullshit!”

He actually shoved the archer away. It was gentle, but he still fell to the floor. “Go away, Clint!”

“Why are out here, Steve?!” Clint all but shouted, standing back up. “You’re here, in a dark gym late at night, instead of being at home with your girlfriend. Why are you still here?”

“Because I’m afraid!” Steve screamed. He turned and slammed a fist into the bag and the single blow smashed it into the floor. “I’m afraid, alright!? Darcy—I can’t be with her right now! My girlfriend, _my Darcy_ , she doesn’t remember me! She doesn’t know me, or us, and that she’s pregnant! I love her so much and we’re having a baby, but I can’t tell her! We can’t share this _miracle_ , holy fucking _God_ , because she might do something crazy. And I can’t blame her, Clint, because what would you do in her place? I can’t say anything, and I can’t be around her because I’m going to slip up, I’m going to touch her belly or kiss her or tell her, and then what?”

His chest was heaving and he choked back sobs. “We’re having a family, something I never thought I could have, and with someone like _Darcy_? I love her so much, and we’re having a _family!_ She’s carrying my daughter, or my son, **_our_** _baby_ , and I can’t—we can’t—” 

He took deep, harsh breaths, trying to get his voice back under control. 

Clint looked at him, face blank. He was an amazing spy, but his hands betrayed him. The tips of his fingers twitched, itching for his bow. Steve knew, because the same thing happened to him with his drawing pencils, or Natasha with her knives. It was a tell. “Cap…” 

Steve shook his head. “Go away, Clint.”

“Steve, just come home.” Clint reached out and rested his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Everyone’s worried about you. Between you and Darcy, Jane’s ready to cry—Bruce already had to calm her down today.”

“Clint, I _can’t_.” His voice broke, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to care. “I’m not strong enough.”

“Steve, you _are_.”

“No, I’m not. I-I-I can’t be there, in our apartment. What am I supposed to do? I can’t draw, or-or-or just sit and eat, or watch TV or sleep… I can’t sleep without her in our bed.”

“We’re going to get her memory back, ok? All of us, as a team. _Family_ , remember?” Clint moved his other hand to mirror the first and forced Steve to look at him. “Do you love her?”

It was a stupid question. “I do.”

“Isn’t that what love is?” he asked. “Through thick and thin, for better or worse and all that shit? Sickness and health?”

The corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up for a moment. “We’re not married, you know.”

“Yet.” Clint smirked. “And don’t pretend like you don’t have her engagement ring in your closet. Top shelf? Remember, I helped you hide it there because she’s too short to reach and she’s always wearing your boxers to sleep, so the underwear drawer was out.”

Steve sighed, because he knew that his friend had a point. “Fuck you.”

“She’s been a horrible influence on you, you know that?” Clint slung an arm around Steve’s shoulder and together they walked to the gym door. “Fuck you, too.”

“Can we really bring her back, Clint?” Steve asked as they started walking home. The dark streets of New York held nothing that could scare them, and absolutely nothing in the world could compare to the nightmare at home. His voice was soft and scared, and Clint was forcibly reminded that his team’s fearless leader, the solid foundation for the mess that was their mashed-up family, _Captain America_ , was really just a kid.

“Of course we can, Steve,” he said. He ignored the shining in his eyes that mirrored his friend’s. He sniffed hard; stupid allergies. “Just remember, one day at a time.”

“One day at a time. Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Please, even just to rag on me for being gone forever? Flames? Kudos? My total lack of shame allows me to beg... Please?


	6. Watermelon, Boobs, Cats and DNA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took forever. I re-wrote this THREE times and I'm still not completely happy. It's LONG, refusing to become two chapters, and it's more of a transition piece; I pulled a Jane and got carried away by science!, but now I can move on! If, you know, upcoming midterms don't kill me.

The light woke her up, followed by a dull ache in her side. Darcy moaned and tried to bury her face in the pillows, but that only made the pain worse. The same thing had happened at the hospital the day before. _The hospital_ —

She sat up, hissing, but she pushed away at the hurt. _Hospital. Accident. Memory._ She’d lost her memory; she wracked her brain, trying to remember. Accident, she was in an accident. She remembered… remembered… nothing.

“God damn it.” She lay back down and stared at the ceiling. She was so sure she’d remember after waking up, but apparently Fate didn’t like her very much.

“Are you unwell, Miss Lewis?”

Understatement of the year. Darcy sighed and kept looking at the ceiling. “I’m fine, Jarvis; it’s just my ribs.” Those damn ribs. At least she didn’t forget the AI and freak out.

“Perhaps Dr. Banner can help with the symptoms,” he offered gently. “He is awake and in his lab.”

“I thought he was a scientist,” she said, confused. “Didn’t he say something about gamma or particles or something?”

“He is also a medical doctor,” Jarvis said. “He may be able to find an alternative form of analgesic that will not upset your… allergy.”

“Uh-huh.” That didn’t sound like so bad an idea. But he might be in the same lab as someone else, even Jane. She really didn’t want things to be awkward, especially after the puking incident of the day before. Then her ribs twinged again and she thought she could handle embarrassment better than pain. “Maybe I’ll see him after breakfast.”

“As you wish,” Jarvis answered. “May I suggest that you try toast, or maybe some of the fruit in the refrigerator? Proper nutrition is essential to recovery.”

Darcy nodded, not eager to repeat the incident. Her ribs couldn’t take much more. She got up carefully and encountered problem two of the day: taking off her sleep-shirt. She shrugged, trying to get just the neck hole over her head, but her body warned her of the consequences. She’d been able to work her shirt on the day before, no problem, but apparently her body hated her more on Day 2. “Fuck,” she whispered. “Jarvis?”

It took him a moment to answer. “Dr. Foster is on her way.”

“No!” Darcy took a breath and continued, forcing her voice more into the hearing range of a human rather than a bat. “Please, not Jane. I can’t face her yet, after…”

If he had a body, he’d be nodding; his voice understanding. “Very well. May I contact Agent Romanoff? Or perhaps Miss Potts?”

“Natasha, please.” She still had no idea who this Potts person was, but she’d rather take the redhead, who seemed kind outside her politely cool demeanor. She sat at the end of the bed, waiting until there was a knock on her bedroom door. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“That was the point,” Natasha said, a tiny smile playing up the corner of her lips. “I’ve been told you are stuck.”

“Yes.” Darcy raised her arms a little off her lap. “This seemed like a good idea last night.”

“You have no idea how often that phrase has been said in this place.” Natasha’s semi-smile disappeared and she turned her eyes to the shirt. “This was not well thought out.”

“You think?” The sarcastic reply was out before she could stop it and Darcy slapped a hand over her mouth. “Fuck—I mean, shit—uh, sorry.”

Natasha looked at her for a very long moment. The blank gaze was perturbing enough and Darcy knew she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a glare anytime soon. She felt herself relax when the woman finally looked away.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Natasha put two hands on the neck of the shirt and gave a single hard tug. It split easily down the middle to Darcy’s bellybutton. Darcy instinctively reached up to cover her chest, but Natasha was already at the hem and pulled the shirt completely apart.

“There.” She turned around and picked up Darcy’s discarded bra. Without so much as a by-your-leave, she’d slipped off Darcy’s shirt, snapped her bra on, and moved the top of another floppy sweater over her head. “Better?”

Darcy gaped at her. “Y-yeah,” she said, once she found her voice. “Thank you.”

Natasha reached a hand out and rested it lightly on Darcy’s jaw. “For you, Дорогая моя,” she said almost tenderly, “anything.”

Darcy wasn’t quite sure how to answer that last part, so she gave Natasha a weak smile and put the sweater on properly. Without being asked, Natasha helped her put on a pair of leggings and soft boots. She ran a brush through Darcy’s hair and handed the woman her glasses. Finally, she took a step back. “Good.” Her tone was polite, but her smile looked a little off. Darcy wasn’t sure what she’d done to upset the agent—agent of what exactly, she’d forgotten—but she didn’t relax until Natasha left.

“We’ll see you upstairs later,” Natasha said; her tone brooked no argument. “I’ll tell Bruce to expect you for your ribs. Eat something if you can first.” And she was gone before Darcy could protest.

“Well, ok,” she muttered to herself. “I guess I will.”

“One finds it difficult to argue with Agent Romanoff,” Jarvis said helpfully from the ceiling.

“I kind of noticed that.” Darcy couldn’t deny that Natasha had a point, though, especially after she’d said as much to Jarvis as well. She tried to push seeing Bruce as far back as she could, emptying the box in the bathroom instead. There were too many products to count, and more makeup than Darcy could imagine a woman ever needing. She wondered if she should put any on, but decided against it. Like before, she had no idea what to use.

 

Jarvis’ suggestion worked, and after a breakfast of watermelon, peaches, and oatmeal, she walked slowly to her door and shut it behind her.

* * *

“How did it go?”

The team—minus Steve, obviously, and Pepper, who was at a meeting — had been eating breakfast together when Jarvis told them Darcy needed help getting dressed. Jane had jumped out of her chair and was halfway to the elevator when Jarvis had stopped her, saying Darcy wanted Natasha instead. The scientist had sat back down, a gut-wrenching expression on her face, and Natasha had gone down in her place.

Now the assassin joined everyone in the Common Room and sat in the chair next to Jane. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Holy shit.” Tony jumped off the counter and sat on the couch opposite the chairs. “What happened?” When Natasha glared at him, he only rolled his eyes. “Odin’s sake, woman! If you’re crossing your arms like that, it means something happened. Spill it, Natashalie.”

The Black Widow sent him one last glare and exhaled angrily when he didn’t budge. “She’s fine. Her ribs are hurting her, so I sent her to see Bruce.” She turned to the doctor in question. “You should head down to the labs soon.” If she weren’t so serious, it’d been a funny statement; the scientists had spent the entire night locked up in the labs. They’d only come up for food when Jarvis threatened to cut the power to the labs. Again.

He put down his cup of tea and nodded. “We’ve been thinking about her ribs a lot, actually.” He turned to Tony and Jane. “Are you two coming?”

Tony put up a hand. “Yeah, but hold on a second. Something happened to shake up our Widow here, and I want to know what it was.”

Clint moved from the couch to the arm of Natasha’s chair. “Nat?”

Natasha looked at him, and after a frustratingly secret spy-eye conversation she frowned and turned back to the team. “She’s not the same Darcy.”

“I think we all knew that,” Tony said callously. He was instantly pelted by pillows from all directions. “Hey!”

“Don’t be mean,” Bruce said crossly.

“I’m not!” Tony protested, but he backed down at his friends’ glares. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“She holds herself differently,” Natasha continued. “She wasn’t afraid. She was… shy.”

The last word made everyone quiet. It was genuinely, _literally_ the last adjective anyone would use to describe Darcy, ever.

Natasha pressed on. “She didn’t meet my eyes.” Her voice was toneless. “I said something to her in Russian, and she just stood there. And when she got dressed, she looked so much like herself but there was something off about her.”

“What was it?” Clint asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I notice everything about anything, but I can’t say what it was.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Jane said softly. “I noticed that too, yesterday.”

Natasha nodded, but her expressionless face revealed more than any emotion would have. She was angry, most likely with herself, and after a minute she stood up. “You three should get down to the lab. I’m going to train.”

 

Without hesitation Clint stood up and followed her to the elevators. They went down, and everyone knew they wouldn’t be back for a long time.

* * *

Darcy stepped into the elevator and without being asked Jarvis directed her to the lab floor. The entire place was made of glass and steel, it seemed. Giant planes of clear glass divided the space into distinct sections: motor parts and deconstructed machines; test tube racks and vials of ghastly colored liquids; rows of desks filled with computers; bookshelves teeming with reports and folders and papers; break room complete with a kitchen, couches and beds… It spread over more than Darcy could see and she steeled herself with a gulp.

There was no door handle, so she pressed her hand flat on the clear door. A green light flashed under her palm and her name, picture, and a long number appeared on the glass above her hand. There was small ‘beep’ and the door opened.

She pushed it open, still staring at the door, and a voice called her name. “Darcy?”

Darcy turned and saw a man waving at her from a back corner. She stepped closer and saw it was Bruce.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said kindly. “Jarvis let me know you were coming.”

“It’s ok,” she said quietly. He smiled at her, but it didn’t have the same look of pity that Jane and Natasha had. It made her smile a little.

Bruce took her down a series of clear hallways she hadn’t even noticed. They passed other labs, most actually filled with people in white lab coats and machines beeping with information. He led her to a metal door with a keypad next to it, entered a long series of numbers, and the door opened to reveal a flight of stairs. They went down into a much quieter, cozy looking space.

“These are the private labs,” he said. “We have the more public Stark Industries labs, like you saw upstairs, but these are for our own… particular use. There’s a separate entrance for us, but sometimes we can come down the ‘hidden’ door.”

“Why did you take me down that way?” Darcy asked.

“So you could see what goes on up there,” he said matter-of-factly. “You can choose which of the two entrances you like, and come in here however you want.”

Darcy nodded. That made sense, and she relaxed a little bit more. “You said labs, as in more than one?”

Bruce took his glasses off and polished them on the edge of his shirt. Then he put them back on his face. “Yes. There are three science types in the team. You used to work with Jane, who is an astrophysicist. There is also a friend, Erik Selvig, that visits often and you work with them.”

“Wait,” Darcy said, putting up her hands. “I thought I handled press conferences and stuff.”

“You do,” Bruce said. “You used to be Jane’s assistant before that, and when you moved in here you kind of took over managing the team. Sometimes you help Jane with her work.”

“Oh.”

Bruce led her down to another hallway. The clear doors revealed rooms that were just as big, but instead of being full of people there was only Tony, covered in grease and what looked like motor oil, taking apart something bright red and shiny. “Jane is one of the scientists; Tony is another. He is an engineer, and he’s usually down here playing with something, making new technology that will change the world or blow us all up.”

Darcy stopped and stared at the man behind the glass. “Does that happen often?”

“More than Pepper would like.” They passed Tony and in the next room they saw Jane in her own nest of papers, three pencils jabbed in her hair and scribbling like crazy on something in front of her. Before Darcy could ask what pepper had to do with anything, Bruce opened the door to a medical-looking area. “Welcome to the sick bay. In case you haven’t guessed it, I’m the last scientist. I work with gamma radiation; I’m also the team’s medical doctor.”

He pointed to a comfortable looking examination table and Darcy stepped up to it. While she got settled, Bruce washed his hands and put on a pair of gloves. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she said automatically.

“Uh-huh.” He looked her over for a moment and poked her in the side. She cringed and nearly fell over. “Just fine, right?”

“Holy _fuck_! Did you have to do that?” she gasped. She pressed her hands tightly to her side in hopes of helping the pain, but it only grew worse.

He chuckled. “Then don’t lie to me.” He pulled out a stethoscope and had it down her sweater in a blink. “How are you feeling?”

She stared at him. “Seriously? My ribs _hurt_.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. “You’re healing from two broken ribs. Now, please take your shirt off.”

Darcy took a breath and collected herself enough to glare. “You’re sadistic.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said cheerfully. “Do you need help?”

“Yes please.”

Bruce helped her ease the sweater off her head. She didn’t know if it was because he was a doctor, or because he treated her like a human being rather than a piece of glass, but there was something in Bruce’s manner that made Darcy feel comfortable. Even after he had poked her in the ribs—and that had _hurt_ —she felt at ease with him. It helped that once her shirt was off, his attention was focused entirely on the bruised over her ribs.

Something told her that her past self didn’t like having her chest ogled. She agreed wholeheartedly.

The doctor’s fingers were gentle as he prodded at her skin. He muttered things like “six and seven,” “120 Hz” and “twenty minutes” under his breath. Darcy let work in peace, and he pulled away after some time.

“Those ribs are really hurting you, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” There was really no point in pretending anymore. “The doctor at the hospital told me I couldn’t take anything but Tylenol, but that doesn’t help a lot.”

Bruce nodded. “You’ve only been taking them when you’re supposed to, right? No overdosing?”

Darcy shook her head. “No, Dr. Gamelan said I had an allergy or something.”

“Good.” Bruce helped her put her sweater back on and pulled out a strange looking piece of plastic shaped like a wand. “I just want to check one last thing before we go any further.” The plastic seemed electrical; it was small and looked like a rounded stick with a ball at the end, and it fit in the palm of Bruce’s hand. The ball end, a little wider than the stick, had a metallic looking coating on it. “I need you to lie down and pull the front of your pants down just a little.”

Darcy was confused, but she did like Bruce asked. His free hand moved her shirt up a little, and he rested the machine’s ball end just over her belly button. A blue screen of light popped up in front of him. He passed the wand over her abdomen and Darcy saw dark shadows and shapes on the screen. They seemed to make sense to Bruce, who muttered in a language Darcy didn’t understand. He pressed random areas of the screen, which seemed to save the images they saw. Then he closed the screen, put the stick away, and helped Darcy sit up.

“I was scanning your pelvis,” he explained. “We were worried you had a fracture in your pelvis.”

“But Dr. Gamelan didn’t say anything about my pelvis.”

Bruce frowned. “That’s strange. I guess he didn’t think too much of it,” he said breezily. “Oh, it’s nothing serious; I just want to keep an eye on the area in case any complications happen.”

“Thanks,” Darcy said warily. “Are you sure—”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Bruce said firmly. “I’m just a little paranoid.”

“Oh. Ok.” Darcy wanted to say more but Bruce kept talking.

“I have an idea about your ribs that you might like.” He jumped into a long, rambling explanation full of anatomy terms and jargon and other things Darcy understood nothing about. She had a feeling her past self wouldn’t have understood either.  It took him about five minutes to notice that Darcy’s expression had gone from polite to bored, and he stopped. “I’m sorry; I have the tendency to ramble with science.”

“It’s ok,” she said. “What _is_ your idea?”

“Do you know why cats purr?”

Darcy blinked. “Did I know before?”

Bruce shrugged. “I have no idea. Cats tend to purr at a certain frequency, and some people think that it helps heal broken bones.” Darcy immediately sat up straighter. “There’s some research about using that technology to help humans heal faster. There are some prototypes that work, but I think that we can set something up that will help your ribs heal in two weeks instead of six-to-eight.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded, a smile on his face. “It will require you sitting still for about three hours a day, but it will significantly help reduce your pain.” He looked up at her. “Is this something you would like to try?”

“Hell _yes_!”

Bruce smiled and turned his head to the ceiling. “Jarvis, would you call Tony in?”

“Of course, Dr. Banner,” Jarvis replied coolly. By the time Bruce put the strange wand away, Tony was in the room, his entire body covered with black oil and clutching something in his hands.

“Hey kid,” he said by way of greeting. “You look like shit.”

“Tony,” Bruce said warningly. The other man shrugged and threw himself into an empty chair.

“Calm down, Brucie. It’s just an observation. You look kind of horrible, though.”

“Thanks?” Darcy said slowly. “Better than dead, I guess.”

“And on that sobering thought,” Tony continued, “I present to you the Straight Jacket.” He lifted his package with a loud “ta-DA!” It was a series of wires and dark strips of cloth woven together to form a rectangle. A slit ran halfway down the middle, and Tony turned it around to give them a better look. “Some of my best work, if I say so myself. I do say so, by the way. And I didn’t have to build it in a cave this time!”

Bruce shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Darcy felt this was something he did often. “Tony…”

“Yeah, yeah, be careful not to break Lewis. Got it.” He turned back to Darcy and draped the over her back and around her head. It fit like a vest, the opening running from neck to her stomach. He grabbed the strips of cloth and started tying them around her torso. When his hands reached toward her breasts, Darcy reached out and slapped his hand.

The words came out reflexively. “Watch it.”

Tony snorted. “And they said you’d changed. Down, Lewis, I’m not like that anymore. I’m still a genius, billionaire philanthropist, but I’m also a one-woman man. Monogamous relationship with the love of my life, yada, yada… I don’t do playboy. Unless it’s _the_ Playboy, then all bets are off because who wouldn’t want to see a full spread of this?” He gestured to himself and winked. “Besides, Captain Gramps would kill me if I even looked up there.”

Darcy looked over Tony’s shoulder as he worked the straps over her ribs. Bruce just shrugged. “He’s like this all the time.”

“And you love me for it,” Tony answered. His hands were surprisingly gentle, and Darcy was outfitted quickly. “Now to turn this thing on...”

“It _is_ safe, right?”

“Of course it is. Rogers would kill me if anything happened to his girlfriend. He does love you, you know.”

Darcy felt the blood rush to her face. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, unsure of how to answer. “Um—”

“It’s ok,” Tony continued. “I have a feeling that when your ribs heal, you’ll remember. I’m never wrong.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, but with a sigh that betrayed fondness instead of exasperation. “When’s your girlfriend’s birthday?”

“December 28th,” Tony answered immediately.

“May 2nd.”

Tony turned around “Liar. Jarvis?”

“May 2nd, sir,” the British voice answered.

“Well, I’m right about this.” Tony paused and looked at Darcy for a long minute. His gaze was strong, penetrating, and Darcy had a feeling he was not really as flaky as he seemed. “We need to go somewhere else for this.” He grabbed Darcy’s hand and the moment her feet touched the floor, he hauled her out the door.

* * *

Bruce stood up and watched as Tony pulled Darcy down the hall and out towards the elevators. When the lift’s doors closed, he turned and gestured for the holographic screen to come up again. “You can come out now.”

Steve stepped out of the closet and sat down on the bed.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Steve said. His tone said he was everything but fine, but Bruce kindly ignored it. “Is that thing going to be safe?”

“I think so. Tony was up all night working out the details.” Steve still didn’t look convinced, so Bruce reached out and tapped his friend’s head with a finger. “Hey, you know Tony would never do anything to hurt Darcy or the baby. We went over the frequencies a thousand times; they won’t hurt the baby.”

Steve nodded. “Ok, ok, ok…” He rubbed his hands together, reassuring himself.

Bruce gave him a minute to gather his thoughts, and then he started again. “Do you want to see—?”

“Yes!” Steve watched with wide eyes as Bruce pulled up Darcy’s sonogram pictures. “Is that…”

“That,” Bruce pointed at a black circle with two fuzzy white shapes inside, “that’s her uterus. This is the baby’s yolk sac.” He pointed to the rounder white shape. “And here—” his finger wandered to the remaining, vaguely bean-shaped spot “—here is your baby.”

They sat in silence for a long time, processing the sight before them. If there were a couple of tears, no one made mention. Eventually they talked, serious thoughts and worries.

“Do you know if the baby—” Steve swallowed hard. “Does the baby have my… the…”

“The serum?”

Steve nodded. The serum was something that worried everybody. Tony was the one that most understood his father’s work, but even that was minimal help with Erskine’s serum. The changes it had made to Steve were amazing; on the other hand, it had devastated Schmidt. The serum had been absorbed into Steve’s DNA, and without knowing its pre-soldier state, no one could tell what the serum had actually changed. They science team had talked over the science behind it, and there was no way to know if the Steve’s contribution to the fetus was normal or ‘mutated,’ or what that could mean for the baby.

“I don’t know.” Bruce said honestly. “I can run tests for the serum, but I can’t do amniocentesis until she’s at least four months along. She's only six weeks right now.” He hesitated for a moment. “Do you remember anything about your father?”

Steve’s shock was visible on his face. “What?”

“Sometimes you can tell what a baby will look like based on what his or her grandparents were like. You were small before the serum; it could be because of malnutrition during the Depression, or it might have been your genes.”

Steve took a deep breath. “I…” He ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t a secret that Steve’s father had died before Steve was born. Sarah Rogers had raised her only son by herself, leaving him an orphan at twelve when she succumbed to tuberculosis. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to revisit, and Steve avoided the topic as much as he could.

But if it helped, he would do it. “My ma told me he was tall. She said he was strong, and he was a good man.”

“And your mother?”

Steve felt a sharp pain in his palms. He looked down and was surprised to see that his hands were balled into fists; he didn’t remember moving them. “She, uh… She was of normal height, I guess.” He raised his hand. “About this tall? Five-four, five-six? A little taller than Darcy.”

“And her build?”

“She was slight, but…” he took another breath. “We didn’t have a lot to eat when I was growing up. She would, uh, she would give me what she could. It didn’t leave much for her.”

Bruce nodded. “Ok.”

“Does that help?” Steve asked. His voice was tight.

“Some. I don’t feel comfortable saying anything definitive until I run the tests, but I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you.”

Jarvis chose that moment to speak up. “Sir has commenced Miss Lewis’ therapy. He requests your presence.”

“I’m sure he didn’t word it as politely,” Steve muttered. As they made their way upstairs, he asked Bruce one last question. “Did you have to poke her ribs? Those really hurt.”

He gave him the same answer he gave Darcy. “And now she won’t lie. She’s changed some, but our girl’s still in there somewhere. You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Дорогая моя (DorogAya moyA)- my dear]


	7. Spit, Lips and Monica Lewsinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I wrote another one! I actually kinda like it...

 

 

It wasn’t too bad. Not really. The thick buzz of the machine was more a feeling than a sound, and Darcy didn’t mind it too much.

“How does it feel?”

“I don’t really feel much of anything,” she told Tony. It had been an awkward ten minutes while Tony tried—and failed—to start up the therapy vest. She kept asking is he needed any help and he kept brushing her off… at least until she suggested checking to make sure the battery was in the right way. Now they were sitting on the couch in the common floor. ‘For safety purposes,’ Tony’d said. Someone was almost always in the common room, so if anything went wrong they wouldn’t have to waste time going down to Darcy’s floor. Except for now; it was just her and Tony. “Are you sure I can’t just sleep in this?”

Tony shook his head. “The active pads of the jacket need to be centered on the broken ribs or else it won’t work. You move in your sleep; all people do. You’re just gonna need to sit still right here.”

Darcy frowned. “But Bruce said it was for three hours,” she said slowly.

“It is.”

“What am I supposed to do for three hours? Just sit here?”

He shrugged. “You can watch a movie, take a nap, read a book. You can do anything… just don’t eat. We haven’t fixed the movement problem, and eating is movement.”

The elevator chimed and Bruce walked out with—“Steve!”

Darcy touched her hand to her mouth, but the name hadn’t come from her. “The prodigal son returns,” Tony continued. “You’re an asshole; you had Jane worried. You know better than to mess with her mental state since Point Break’s out of the picture for the next god-knows-how-long.”

“Shut up, Tony.” Steve’s words were directed at Tony—the phrase was spoken with the same fondness of Bruce’s eye-roll—but his eyes were focused on Darcy’s. She felt herself redden. “You’re the one old enough to be my father, remember?”

“I’m not the only one,” Tony answered. The phrase made Steve freeze and Tony’s flinched. “Sorry Cap, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s ok.” He moved closer to Darcy. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said shyly. Damn, her voice was really high. She coughed to clear her throat, but the vibrations of the vest made the saliva take a wrong turn. She tried breathe and started choking on her own spit. In a flash Steve was kneeling in front of her, on hand on her back and the other on her cheek.

“Darcy? Darcy, sweetheart, are you alright?”

She waved a hand in front of her face, fanning air into her mouth. “ _Fine_ ,” she wheezed. “ _I’m fine_.” His hands reached down to the straps of the vest but she pushed them away. “It’s ok.” She coughed harder and cleared her throat. “I’m ok, it’s ok, I’m _fine_.”

He pulled back and sat on his heels. “Are you sure?”

“I’m fine, just embarrassed.” She smiled at him and he frowned, setting his hands on her hips instead. “Steve, I just swallowed wrong.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Ok.”

She expected him to stand back up, to walk back to where Bruce was standing, but he stayed there. “Is this yours, Stark?” he asked instead.

“All this time and you still doubt my genius.” Tony sniffed, affronted. “Of course it’s mine. You’d be proud of me, Rogers. I put it on without touching her or anything.”

Even to Darcy, Steve’s sarcasm was evident. “Thanks.”

“Bruce,” Darcy asked, since there seemed to be some kind of… thing between Steve and Tony going on that she didn’t understand. “Do I really need to wear this without moving?”

“I’m afraid so. You could be on your computer if you want; electronics won’t mess with it.”

“Yeah,” Tony added helpfully. “Now you have a medically-sanctioned reason to Tumblr binge.”

That sounded a little better; she could get some work done. “Oh, ok.” And then she thought about what Tony said. “What do you mean, ‘tumbler binge?’”

Tony picked up the sleek tablet he’d left on the coffee table. “You know, be on Tumblr for hours at a time without people yelling at you to get back to work. Or you could watch cat videos on YouTube, I guess.” He handed her the tablet and she took it carefully.

“No, I mean, what’s a tumbler? Like a drinking glass?”

Their reaction was immediate: “ _what_?” They couldn’t have been better synchronized if they’d practiced it.

She looked at each of them. “What is—?”

“No, no, we heard you.” Tony sat down on the coffee table behind Steve. His face was entirely serious and it started to unnerve Darcy. “What do you mean, what is Tumblr?”

“You said ‘tumbler binge.’ I thought I couldn’t drink anything.”

Steve and Tony turned as one to Bruce. “I thought Gamelan said she knew technology.”

“I do,” she interrupted hotly. “I do remember technology, see?” She picked up the tablet and quickly opened up the email archive. “But I don’t know what you mean by—”

“—Tumblr.” Bruce said evenly. He eased himself into a chair. “Let’s try this really fast. Tell me if you know what these are: email?”

Darcy rolled her eyes; they made her do that at the hospital for a week and she really did not want to repeat the experience. It was exhausting. “Yes.” Bruce gave her a look that made her pout. “Electronic letters you see on the computer.”

“Good. Tablet?”

Darcy just raised the one in her lap.

“Ok. Facebook?”

That one, she didn’t know. She bit her lip, trying to remember. “Is it like a yearbook?”

All three men exchanged a look. Even through the buzzing of the vest Darcy felt the pit of her stomach drop. “How about Twitter?” Tony asked.

What the hell was that? “Is that a candy bar?”

“Reddit?”

“It sounds like clothes detergent.”

“Instagram?

“Instant oatmeal.”

“Vines.”

“Isn’t that a plant?”

“YouTube?”

 “Plumbing equipment?” she guessed.

“Memes?”

This was getting ridiculous. “You just made that up.”

“Holy fuck!” Tony jumped off the coffee table. “Lewis really is broken.”

“Shut up, Tony!” That time all three of them shouted at him.

“What the hell are you all talking about?” Darcy yelled. “I thought my technology memory was fine!”

“It is,” Bruce said emphatically. “Listen to me, Darcy. Your memory with handling technology _is_ fine. The problem is in your episodic memory. You can’t connect to all the parts of your long term memory.”

Darcy threw her hands into the air. She started toppling over and Steve caught her just before she fell off the sofa. “Great, so not only did I forget who I am and who you all are, I can’t even remember whatever the hell a tumbler is!” She felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes and she dug her fingers into Steve’s arm to push them back.

He physically turned her so she was facing him. She kept her face stubbornly towards the floor until Steve nudged her head to look her in the eyes. His blue-green eyes met hers and she felt herself calm down just a little. “It’s like a scrapbook,” Steve said quietly. “Do you remember scrapbooks?”

She forced a ‘yes’ through gritted teeth.

“Tumblr is just an online scrapbook. You put up your own and you can look at other people’s books, or their pages, and send them messages about it.”

He stopped talking and the only sound left was the deafening hum of the vest. The sound grew louder, overwhelmingly louder and it buzzed harder and Darcy suddenly felt her chest start heaving underneath the vest. She couldn’t breathe under the vest, she needed to get it off, she needed it off _now_. She started pawing at it and all three men jumped to get her out of it. “Off, off, get it off, _off_ …” It took her a moment to realize that the voice crying out the orders was hers and the moment the vest was gone her chest could move again and she had tears rushing down her face and then Steve was there, in front of her and his arms were tight around her and she could feel him rubbing her back. The warmth of his chest seeped into her, anchoring her to the present. She was safe, safe with him and she could feel the pressure in her lungs and her throat lighten and she relaxed against him.

Sound came back slowly to her, and the others’ words were reluctant to reach her ears. “…coming.”

“You knew this would happen?”

“I _suspected_. She’s been handling this too well since she left the hospital.”

“Is she ok?”

“Yeah, although her ribs are probably sore.”

“She’s coming around.” That last sentence was accompanied by a deep rumbling under Darcy’s cheek, letting her know it was Steve talking. “Darcy, how are you feeling?”

She kept her face buried against his chest. “I—what happened?”

“You had a panic attack. I think we might have set the power of the vest a little too high.” That was Bruce.

“It was working fine earlier,” she croaked.

“We should try a lower setting next time,” Tony said.

“If there is a next time,” Bruce added.

“That’s up to her. What do you say, doll?” Steve asked her. “Do you feel like doing this again?”

Darcy took a moment to run a hand over her ribs. She felt the bandage under her sweater, but her ribs didn’t hurt at all. Of all the time she could remember, four whole days, it was the best her torso had felt. She took a deep breath and let it out. There was only a tiny prick of pain. “Hey, it worked.”

“Of course it worked,” Tony muttered. “It’s an original Tony Stark.”

“I don’t know what that means.” She looked up at Steve. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t ever be sorry, Darcy,” he said, one had tight over her hip. The other ran its thumb over the curve of her jaw. “That’s what I’m here for.”

She felt something warm inside of her, completely unrelated to the human torch still pressed to her front. It was the strongest feeling she’d had since she’d left the hospital, and she had to swallow a gasp. Instead she nodded.

“Let’s try it again.”

“Ok,” Bruce said. “Do you want to try tomorrow or maybe later today—?”

“Now.” She pulled away from Steve and stretched her arms out a little. “Put it on again, please.”

“Darcy, are you sure you don’t want to rest a little first?” Steve suggested.

“Look, the faster I heal, the more I can do about getting my memory back.” She looked at him, begging him to understand. “Who knows, maybe I really could get it back when my ribs are better.” He opened his mouth, to protest, no doubt. “I promise not to have another panic attack.”

The last part made Steve laugh. It was a good sound, and it made Darcy smile. Tony stepped forward to fix up the vest again, and Bruce pulled Steve away. They talked too low for her to hear over Tony’s prattling on about resetting the vest. Her eyes refused to leave Steve’s form, however. They wandered over his face, down his body, back up and settled on his lips. She could see them move as he talked to Bruce. It was funny; if she paid attention and moved her head just slightly to the side, she could almost pretend she knew what they were saying.

Unconsciously, her mouth started mimicking his. “…good idea. It… return, fla—favor… thing for hur—her…” She switched to Bruce. “Try. Won’t have to no—know.”

Tony’s hands stilled over her ribs. “What are you doing, kid?”

“Don’t call me kid,” she said absently. “I’m busy.” She kept mouthing their words and Tony looked over his shoulder to see what she was talking about.

“Hey, Bonnie, Clyde,” he called. “She’s reading your lips.” The whispering pair jumped.

“Not very well,” she huffed. “I think you just called me a baby.”

Steve’s eyes went wide and Bruce stiffened beside him. “You—we said maybe.”

“There’s a reason Tasha and Clint are the spies,” Tony said, tying the last strap on the vest. “You’re as sneaky as a bilgesnipe in a Ferrari going through a McDonald’s drive-thru. How are you not dead yet?”

“I’m good at what I do,” Steve said. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Tony pointed a finger at Darcy. “She said that about Senator Wharton at the Christmas ball when he was—”

“Not that part, Stark. The lip-reading.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow. “You mean that was real? It worked?”

“She said something about a favor and doing something for her,” Tony said.

“Anything for her,” Bruce corrected softly. “Darcy, how did you do that?”

She shrugged. God, it felt amazing when her ribs didn’t feel like they were going to implode. Or explode, whatever. “I was looking at your mouth,” she pushed the blush away, “and I could see your lips form the words. You know, lip reading?”

“Well, Natasha’s going to be glad someone took her lessons seriously,” Bruce said. “Jane and Pepper can’t even recognize vowels.”

“Natasha was teaching you three some… special skills.” Steve sat down next to her. “They seem to have stuck.”

“Maybe because they’re procedural knowledge,” Bruce said. “I need to go buy some psychology books.  I have a friend at Chelsea I can talk to…” He trailed off and shook himself. “Sorry. Tony, turn it on.”

He did, and the buzzing started up again. It was softer than it had been the last time, and Darcy didn’t feel that the pressure was going to cut off her air supply again. “It’s ok.”

“Good.” All three sat down and watched her.

“If you three are going to spend three hours like that, this is going to get boring really fast. I feel like you mock my pain.”

“Life is pain, Highness” Steve answered. “Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

“You did not just quote ‘The Princess Bride’ at her!” Tony cried. “That goes past your daily ‘perfect gentleman’ quota.”

“How did you know it was from ‘The Princess Bride’?” Bruce asked.

“I always root for Rodents Of Unusual Size,” he said.

“Tell me what you were talking about,” Darcy said. “Please?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a ruffled mess that made Darcy’s fingers itch to play with.  She coughed. “We told you about me.”

She nodded. “Soldier, secret serum, playing catch up seventy-odd years later.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “I needed help adjusting to the future; I didn’t understand anything that was going on: history, politics, culture, movies, music, books, technology…”

Darcy’s brain started putting the pieces together and beat him to the punch. “I was your tutor.”

“You helped me adjust to this time.” He looked down at his hands; they were on the seat of the couch, inches from hers. “You explained everything to me; because of you, I understand everything going on—”

“No.” It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Steve or Darcy. “No,” she continued. “I don’t want you to do this out of pity.”

“Trust me, Darce,” and his voice was suddenly very low and very deep. “Pity has nothing to do with this.” His eyes grew darker and Darcy felt that warm feeling return with a vengeance.

“So you want to… help me?”

“All of us, Darcy,” Tony said. “Maybe if you start relearning everything, the way Rogers did, it’ll work. We’ll help you, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid.” She turned back to Steve. “What’s Facebook?”

“Communicating with people you know over the internet. You can tell people how you’re feeling or what you’re doing, share pictures, and play games on your personal account.”

“Who was President Clintin?”

“Clinton?”

“Yeah.”

“42nd president of the United States. Basically he was impeached for having an affair with an intern.”

“What’s ‘The Princess Bride?’”

“An extremely overrated movie that everyone loves for some reason.”

Darcy paused and looked at him. Three hours was a very long time to sit and do nothing. Steve was offering to help her, work with her to get her memory back. He was reserved, obviously; she had seen him only twice that she could remember (at the hospital, and then when she returned home). But he’d helped her with the panic attack, and he seemed to care. Scratch that, he did care; she was supposed to be his girlfriend.

“I can’t replace her, you know. Your Darcy.”

Steve took her face in his hands. She could feel his finger play over her cheeks, brushing tendrils of hair away from her eyes. “The doctors said you’re in there, somewhere.” He settled his gaze on hers. “I believe them.”

“And if she can’t come back? If I can’t remember?”

He looked straight _through_ her, and Darcy felt _something_ inside of her. “You will remember, Darcy.”

“Steve, can you honestly tell me that you’re going to try even if this doesn’t work?”

“Darce, I can do this all day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never like how I end these chapters. Let me know what you guys think, or any ideas for new chapters becuase I'm making up this whole thing as I go...


	8. Lipstick, Coulson, and French

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things is picking up, and suspicions is arising...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys. Well, this took forever to come up. I just came back from Spring Break; before that, I had the week from hell. I wrote the first half of this while in desperate need of severe writing therapy, so there you go. No promises about anything being good, but pounding away at all of these keys made the people in the library stare, so I guess it worked.
> 
> Also, I'm not hung-over; just sleep deprived. I turned 21 yesterday, which was an adventure in and of itself. But enough about me: CHAPTER 8!

 

 

 

They started off with the Princess Bride. If Darcy was perfectly honest with herself, she was really confused. The movie was cute and all, especially with that guy that kept on saying “as you wish.” But then with the whole dying and coming back to life and what she was _sure_ were completely crappy special effects… “I don’t think I liked it.”

The boys turned and stared. It was actually kind of funny; their mouths were open and their eyes were wide, and the credits just kept rolling on the screen behind them.

“B-b-but that’s your favorite movie!” Tony cried.

_“Why?”_

He just kept gaping at her, so she shrugged. “It wasn’t a bad movie, but I don’t think that I liked it. Next?”

Steve ruffled through the DVDs on the table. Tony had thrown an honest-to-God fit about it, claiming it was an insult to the digital age. Steve told him to stuff it. He’d spent most of the movie pretending to watch, secretly looking at Darcy who was secretly watching him too and pretending not to notice his staring. It was complicated, but it felt a little right, especially after all the heaviness of his declaration earlier.

“Depends. Do you want to watch a kid movie or something serious? Funny?”

Bruce knelt in front of Darcy as Steve spoke, tugging at the straps on her vest. “Comedy might not be best right now. The vest seems to be working, but I don’t want to subject your ribs to any more movement than necessary while you have this on.”

“Try ‘Finding Nemo,’” Tony suggested. “I’ll make popcorn.”

“She can’t eat,” Steve and Bruce chorused.

“Good. More for me.” And he went to the kitchen.

“He’s a bit of an asshole, isn’t he?” She bit her lip. “Sorry.”

“Darcy,” Steve asked quietly. “Are you worried about cursing?”

She quickly ducked her eyes; they just jumped back up as the boys burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“You…” Steve took a deep breath, trying to control his voice. “I’m sorry, Darcy, it’s just—” his eyes met Bruce's and a new round started.

“Sorry!” Bruce wheezed. “It’s just, out of all of us, you have the worst language. You, you curse worse than Natasha.”

“Or me,” Steve laughed. “I was in the army, and sometimes you say things that…” anything else he was going to say was lost in more laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Tony asked.

“Darcy—Darcy—”

“Really?” She scowled and launched a cushion at Steve and Bruce. “Isn’t it bad enough I can’t remember anything? You have to rub it in my face? Angry-ass fuckers, I hope you get diarrhea and the chicken pox at the same time.”

That brought the Giggle Twins to a halt, but Tony burst out laughing. “Lewis, are you sure you can’t remember?”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Jarvis spoke up. “Sir, I feel I must inform you that Agent Coulson has entered the building.”

 _That_ made everyone freeze.

“Holy _fuck!_ ”

Suddenly they started moving like crazy. Steve started putting away the DVDs, only to have Tony slap them out of his hands. “Leave them! He’s not gonna care, we can tell him you got nostalgic. You need to prep her!” He jabbed a finger at Darcy. “I’ll get more food.”

Bruce was setting the cushions up on the couch and fussed with Darcy’s vest. “Is there any way Jarvis can hold him off?”

“No, he’ll think that something’s weird. The last time that happened, Barton had broken both arms and he refused to tell Phil, remember?”

“Hold up,” Darcy shouted over the chaos. “What the hell is going on? Who’s coming?”

“Agent,” Tony chocked out, returning with sodas and pretzels and something in a bowl Darcy couldn’t identify.

“Who the hell is Agent?”

“Phil Coulson.” Steve sat next to Darcy and spread a blanket over her legs. “Darcy, I need you to listen to me. You _cannot_ let Phil know that you lost your memory.”

Bruce finished with the vest, setting it higher up her chest. “Are you sure we can’t—”

“No,” Tony answered. “You know all that noble shit he does; if Coulson knows, he’s going to tell his CO. That’s Hill, and there’s no way she won’t tell Fury. Trust me, Darce, the last thing you want is the pirate to know you went all—” he whistled and made a vague sign at his head.

“I am not crazy!”

“It doesn’t matter! SHIELD can’t know.”

“Agent Coulson is coming up the elevator,” Jarvis intoned.

“I don’t know who any of those people are!”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Steve took her face in his hands again, but his eyes were panicked and full of fear. “Darcy, listen to me.”

“Eighty floors,” Jarvis called out

Tony faced the ceiling. “J, lock Jane in the labs. Just in case.”

“Seventy-five floors, sir.”

“Damn it.” That one came from Bruce. “Something, something’s missing, something’s not right…” He looked around. “Food, movies, drinks, Darcy… Darcy!” And he rushed off without another word.

“Darcy.” Steve turned her attention back to him. “I need you to listen very carefully and do exactly what I say.”

“Steve?”

“Darcy, Phil’s our friend, but he’s a spy. He’s an agent, and if he sees anything too strange they’ll take you out of here.”

“Sixty floors.”

“Darcy, it’s dangerous to be living in the Tower. They still aren’t happy about you being with me, but you learned a lot of self-defense.” He gave a humorless chuckle, and something changed in his eyes. “You’re practically an agent.”

“Fifty-five floors.”

“Darcy, if SHIELD finds out you lost your memory, they’ll take you away, run tests, tests that could hurt th—you. We could never see you again.”

“It’s happened,” Tony muttered. He’d pulled up a blue holographic screen and was swiping like crazy at it.

“Darcy, you call him Coulson. Usually you call him ‘Son of Coul’ the first time you see him. Very, very rarely do you ever call him Phil.”

“Forty floors.”

“You like to tease him about being an agent. You threaten him with your taser on a regular basis. He took care of some of your casework, so you might want to thank him. Don’t sensor your language or hesitate. You have no limits or boundaries, understand?”

She nodded.

“He’s great at reading body language.”

“Thirty floors.”

“We _know!_ ” Tony shouted.

“You’ve been in the hospital, we brought you home yesterday. Your only major injuries are your ribs. If you act strangely, blame it on that.” He paused. “Don’t mention your allergy.”

“Why not?”

“It’s important,” he snapped, voice so fast Darcy could hardly keep up. “Darcy, listen: the vest makes Tony look like Dr. Frankenstein; Jane is being crazy like normal; you can’t wait to get back to work and Natasha’s threatened to kick your ass as soon as you’re healed.”

“Twenty floors!”

“Here!” Bruce rushed back and all but threw a handful of pencils at Steve. “That’s what’s missing!”

“Of course!” He uncapped a red pen and held it to her lips. “Darcy, keep still.”

She pulled back. “What the hell?”

Tony snapped closed the screen. “Just do what he says!” He ran back to the kitchen. “Bruce, put on the movie!”

Steve ran the pencil over her lips, hands steady and fast as he quickly colored her lips in. It wasn’t until he pulled out a lipstick tube that it hit her. “Make-up?”

_“Ten floors.”_

“Darcy,” he breathed, finishing up with one last swipe. “Phil will know something’s wrong if your lips aren’t red.”

_“Five!”_

In a flash, Bruce was sitting at the floor; Steve was next to her under the blankets, arm around her hip and the movie was already playing. The doctor flipped the vest on from his seat. He handed Steve a soda, grabbed the bowl of pretzels, and shoved some into his mouth.

Then the elevator doors dinged and popped open. An older man in a black suit and sunglasses stepped into the room. Darcy took a deep breath and said the first thing that popped into her head.

* * *

 

“Son of Coul!”

Steve forced his body to relax into the cushions. “Hello, Agent,” he said. Bruce waved from the floor.

The agent nodded at them “Captain. Doctor. Miss Lewis.”

“It’s always Miss Lewis with you,” Darcy said breezily. “What if I just start calling you Phil? Or better, Phillip?”

Coulson rolled his eyes and Steve felt himself start breathing again.

“I’m glad to see you are relatively unharmed.” He started walking towards them and Steve felt his hand unconsciously tighten around her hip.

“I see how it is,” she said. Her words sounded extremely natural. “No one cares enough to come by and visit until I’m sitting here in this thing.” She gestured at her torso. “Forgive me if I don’t hug you.”

The corner of Coulson’s mouth turned up. “You’re forgiven.” He peered at the vest. “What is that thing anyway?”

“Ask Dr. Franken-Tony. Now sit down or shut up; we’re watching Nemo.” She pushed back against the floor and cuddled as best she could into Steve. He gave in to his instincts and dropped a kiss to her head.

“Did someone call my name?” Tony walked out of the kitchen, trademark smirk on his face and an enormous bowl of popcorn in his arms. “Howdy Agent; fancy seeing you here.”

“I heard that Miss Lewis came home from the hospital.”

“And you came to check on her? I think you’re getting soft in your old age, Agent.” Tony threw himself on the floor next to Bruce and offered the physicist the popcorn. Bruce took some and passed the bowl up to Coulson.

“Who are you calling old, Stark?” Coulson’s voice was almost teasing and Steve found himself grinning.

“Can we watch the movie, please?” Darcy interrupted. A hand reached out for the popcorn and three other hands—including one of Steve’s—slapped it away. “Hey!”

“No eating,” Bruce said, stealing the popcorn back. “Otherwise you’ll be in that thing for a month.”

Darcy made a face, the same pout she always had when she was told no, and Steve felt himself relax a little more. Then he realized Coulson was talking.

“—negative side effects.”

“She’ll be fine,” Tony said, literally waving a hand at the agent. “It’s my tech; what could possibly go wrong?”

“Are we really going to open that can of snakes?”

Coulson looked curiously up at Darcy. “Don’t you mean worms?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “This is Tony Stark we’re talking about. It’s snakes.” She sighed, ignoring Steve’s hands when he pulled at her vest. “Steve, I'm _fine!_ Ok, so what are you really here for?”

Even though she couldn’t possibly know it, Darcy was extremely right. Steve knew Coulson, as well as he could know such a private person, but it was infinitely unlikely that the man had traveled to the Tower just to see Darcy.

He was right. “I really am glad to see that you’re fine, Miss Lewis…”

“But…?”she prompted.

He had the decency to look chagrined. “…but I do have some things to discuss on the business front.”

Steve leaned forward so he was at the end of the couch, but his arm refused to budge from around Darcy’s waist. “Phil, can’t this wait?”

“It’s ok, Steve.” She rested a hand on his shoulder, and it was exactly what she would’ve done before the accident and Steve had to resist the urge to react. He couldn’t suppress the urge entirely, and he tightened his arm around her. “So what’s up, Secret-Agent Man?”

Coulson gave her a little half-smile and Steve felt himself exhale. “Miss Potts and I looked over the scheduling for the team and pushed everything we could two weeks over. There were a couple of events that refused to cooperate—”

Darcy raised an eyebrow, a move she had learned from Natasha. “Even with your charms? Inconceivable.” The eyebrow rose higher when Tony burst into giggles. “Don’t worry Phil, I took care of it. The team has the Green fundraiser on Saturday, followed by a press conference with the usual bloodsuckers. Remember, if that Everhart woman shows up again, I’ll taze her ass and then yours.”

Steve’s mouth almost fell open, and Coulson only nodded. “And the hospital benefit? I couldn’t talk the director of the hospital out of it—”

“I took care of it,” she said. “I’m going to meet privately with him tomorrow at two to discuss the coordination—”

That pulled Steve up short. “What? Darce, you just got out of the hospital yesterday.”

“Steve, I’m gonna need to go out anyway; I need to meet with the coordinator of the fundraiser for Saturday. Anyway, tomorrow’s Thursday, that only gives me a week to organize the gala’s—”

“Darcy, you can’t go.”

“Excuse me?” Every woman had a special tone of voice she saved for special occasions, designed especially to deal with her significant other. Jane had one for when Thor refused to put away his hammer in the Tower; Pepper had one, but it was her regular Tony-voice; Darcy had one for Steve, and she was using it right now. Even without her memory, the message was loud and clear: tread very, _very_ carefully.

“Darcy,” he said slowly, picking his words with caution. “You’re still recovering; you just got home yesterday and you still have a lot left to heal.” He put emphasis on the end of his statement, trying to remind Darcy that her memory was still missing.

“And need I remind you, Steven, that I am fine?” She crossed her arms over her chest, over the still vibrating vest. “My ribs are healing, I don’t feel pain, and I need to keep the team’s image running. These events have been on the books for months; Coulson’s done a great job, but even he couldn’t organize everything—thank you for that, by the way.”

Coulson nodded.

“I fixed everything they couldn’t in one day. I’m perfectly fine.”

But it wasn’t true, Steve knew. Darcy was projecting an amazing front, and if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d be agreeing with her plan. But there was another factor to consider, one growing inside of Darcy, and she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Bruce had been very clear about the dangers of Darcy losing the baby, especially with the stresses of her job. “Darcy, you need to stay here. You aren’t ready”

“Steve.” Her voice went deathly calm and everyone stiffened. Even Tony stopped fiddling with a stray pretzel and sat perfectly still. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I _will_ be attending that meeting.”

His Captain voice came out. “Darcy, you can’t do that.”

“Steve, you can’t stop me.” And she suddenly stood up, peeling the vest off and throwing it on the couch. “If you excuse me, I have some work to do. Coulson, it was great to see you. Come back when my boyfriend isn’t being a complete douchebag.”

“Darcy!” He called as she started walking towards the elevator. The doors opened immediately for her. “Come on! Get back here!”

“Vous êtes si plein de merde!” She shouted before the doors closed behind her.

There was silence in her wake. Then: “her French is as amazing as ever.”

“Shut up, Tony.”

*

She was fuming by the time she reached her floor. Darcy slammed door to her room and immediately pulled up her laptop. She didn’t know what kind of girl she was before, but she wasn’t about to let anyone boss her around. She may have lost her memory, but certainly not her autonomy. How the hell was she supposed to get better if they—and by they, she meant Steve—were going to baby her?

Something told her it wasn’t Steve’s purpose, but she wasn’t a soldier; she wasn’t going to follow his orders. The petty part of her brain pushed away the more reasonable half that said he had a reason, and she threw herself down on the bed with a growl. The computer booted up and she opened her email, completely intent on getting some work out of the way while she was down here.

Her inbox icon blinked at her, but she was too distracted to notice. How _dare_ he suggest that she stay away? This wasn’t the forties, and she’d been a great actress. She had done an amazing job around the secret agent. Coulson didn’t look like he could hurt a fly if he tried, but she had followed every single one of Steve’s instructions. She’d been witty and forward and worked every single thing he said into her conversation. How dare he suggest she wasn’t making an effort?

She was just so _angry_. She just wanted to reach out and break something, or shout or something. She looked around for something to throw, knowing her hands were aching to destroy anything.

Her left hand reached up for her laptop. Then she frowned and looked down. Her right hand was rubbing slow, small circles over her stomach, right where Bruce had examined her. That was… really, really weird.

She kept looking down at her hand, at the small, tiny circles, at the easy movement over her skin.

“Weird,” she whispered.

All of a sudden, she felt the wave of anger pass. It felt like a fog had lifted and she could see properly again. And she grimaced. _Oh god…_ she buried her face in both her hands and groaned. How could she have just done that? Steve and Bruce and Tony were just looking out for her; they were just trying to help. And what had she done? She’d stormed out of there like a toddler with a tantrum. Steve had tried to reason with her and what had she done?

“You are so full of shit,” she moaned. It was exactly what she had said to him. “Since when do I even speak French?”

“Since you were sixteen, Miss Lewis,” a voice answered easily from the ceiling.

“Go away, J.”

“Yes, Miss Lewis.”

Darcy lay down on her bed and sighed, scrubbing angrily at her face with her hands. Why did she have to do that? She always had to screw things up, like her mother always said. There was a sharp pain in her head and she cried out. “Shit!”

Her hands rubbed at her head again, this time more gently. That was the third or fourth time that she’d felt that same pain. It always followed a vague sense of déjà vu—

Darcy suddenly sat up. “Lewis, you are so stupid.” It all made sense now; she’d had those pains every time she’d started to remember something, or began to feel something that tied back to before her accident. Maybe if she could find more connections, feel those same things… sure, she’d be in pain, but just maybe she’d remember.

Excited, she jumped up and was halfway to the elevators when she remembered. Everyone upstairs probably didn’t want to see her, especially not Steve after she’d acted like a bitch. “Fuck.” She made her way back to her bed and the laptop. She clicked out of her email, and it left her staring at her background. The picture of past-her and Steve together stared back; they looked so happy, so carefree. She wished she could remember what that had been like, being with him. Maybe another picture, or something—

She really _was_ an idiot. “Jarvis?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis?”

“Jarvis, are there any photos or videos of me and Steve?”

“Yes; there are various videos and pictures on your computer, your cell phone, Captain Rogers’ cell phone, and in the possession of the other members of the Tower. I also have several recordings from the security cameras that I have been asked to keep for sentimental and blackmailing reasons.”

He paused. “Would you like for me to queue them up?”

Darcy closed her laptop and took a deep breath. “Yes please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The French, according to Google Translate, is: "you are so full of shit."

**Author's Note:**

> I have two notebooks (no lie!) full of fics in progress and I don't like to post unfinished works. Real life is driving me up the wall, though, so I thought, what the hell, let's post a fic that has only one completed chapter. Let's see where my muse takes this one.
> 
> This isn't going to bite me in the ass.
> 
> Not at all.


End file.
